Tempo
by Narnian Sprite
Summary: Keeping time is hard, especially when you know how to cheat. Stark's newest employee is turning out to be all kinds of fun. OC centric,starts pre-film, continues through. Features HvZ, Coulson eating coffeecake, and, eventually, a plot. Rated for crazy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own my OC. Marvel owns the rest. You can tell because of the billions being generated by _The_ _Avengers _is not being used to slaughter my college debt.

**A/N**: To the brave few who are still following me from story to story: I will get back to the wonderful worlds from which I have departed, but for the past year I've been neck-deep in a departmental honors project involving Irish mythology. Now I am graduated. And feeling rebellious. So I'll finish my other fun stuff later. But they WILL be finished. I promise.

To everyone I haven't had the privilege of meeting before - welcome to the show. Please leave a donation in the pretty little review box below.

**Chapter 1: In Which Zombies Chase Humans**

The way she saw it, Bea had two options: get sneaky or get snagged. No one remembered the old tunnel that linked the science building to the home ec. labs; certainly no one remembered all the little side doors from which she could emerge. She clutched her sock flail in one hand, and a knotted sock in the other. With such paltry weapons, it was a wonder she had lasted the first two days. Already the president was down, so Bea had been voted in as the new vice, which made her even more of a target than she had been before. And she was running out of fellow targets. Every meal, she learned that another ally had been turned. But she was still alive.

While she would love to chalk up her survival to her fantastic ability with her spongy armaments, she – and everyone else – knew that she survived through sneaking. She never took the same path twice to the same place, and she certainly never took the usual routes across campus. It took her half an hour to get _anywhere_, but the results had been impressive. She usually had cover, except for her short sprints between buildings, and she always timed her travels so that a minimum of hunters would be available to go after her. There was still an awful lot of sprinting, though. Her legs did not approve, and they had reminded her of their disapproval every morning when she flopped and flailed out of bed to the tune of her alarm. And such was the price of playing Humans Vs. Zombies.

Cautiously, Bea eased the door open and peeped out of the tunnel. Nothing. There was no movement, no noise. It seemed unlikely that the enemy _still_ hadn't noticed this exit, but then, it was an odd time in the afternoon, and a lot of them would be stuck in classes, so maybe they were just under-manned. Ah, well, all the better for Bea. Taking a deep breath, she began bouncing on the balls of her feet, summoning the shaky adrenaline rush that heightened her senses for the mad dash.

Then she sprang from cover.

The world bounced and waved through her eyes as she rushed across the lawn. Her ears had not failed her. There was no one around. Must be off hunting by the dorms…

Just as she dodged past the road, a sleek and extremely expensive car pulled up. A slew of indelicate words blasted through Bea's mind like fireworks as a very trim and neatly dressed red(ish)-head stepped out of the vehicle. It was freaking _Pepper Potts. _Bea could feel the little wisps of _had-been_, even from a distance. Her past was very colorful. She could taste the salad Pepper had eaten opposite her boss, Stark. She could smell the toasty breath of a hair dryer. Then there were a lot of indistinct flashes and bangs which Bea assumed were delicately repressed memories of firefights. Potts was a very busy woman indeed, a very busy woman with very bad timing. She was sort of inadvertently wrecking Bea's life.

Bea felt faintly sick. This was not part of the plan. She was supposed to have fifteen more minutes. She was supposed to get to the student center, clean up, and hide her weapons before her interview. She was supposed to look _professional _and _responsible_, and what was she doing? Running amuck with a bunch of socks. The red(ish)-head was utterly unflappable, however, and simply offered Bea a pleasant smile and a nod, though Bea had the sneaking suspicion that the smile was bordering on a laughing grin.

"I'm a little early for our appointment," she said. "I hope that's alright."

"Fine." Bea's voice came out about half an octave too high, and she winced at the squeak. But her adrenaline was still going, and her embarrassment was quickly overridden by survival instincts. A quick glance in all directions assured her that she was still alone – mostly – and had not been spotted by any of her pursuers… yet. "If we could proceed to the building…?"

Miss Potts was definitely grinning now. "Of course! After you." She turned back to the car, told the other occupant that she would see him/her/it the next morning and closed the car door.

Smiling anxiously, Bea began to lead Pepper Potts across the lawn, socks at the ready. Heck – her dignity was gone and the chance for a favorable first impression had come and gone. Might as well keep her head in at least one game, right? If she blew the interview _and _her survival streak in one afternoon, she would curl into the fetal position and just wail pitifully into her pillow. Then there would be ice cream. Lots of ice cream. Maybe some Cheetos. No. Definitely Cheetos.

The two women had made it halfway across the green when Bea saw them – a group of about five zombies had appeared around the corner of the building to the right, and she had about two seconds before they saw her. She looked at Miss Potts. What was the proper protocol for excusing oneself from the representative of one's benefactor in the face of a rapidly approaching zombie horde?

"Ummm…"

Potts saw the zombies, frowned, then looked at Bea with a _very_ understanding look. "I'll catch up," she said. "Go for it."

"Thanks," Bea said. Her voice was breathier than she would've liked and sounded suspiciously close to tears. But she was being stupid. No time for the sissy crap. Time to run for it.

And run she did.

The mob behind her came howling on her heels, and Bea quickly realized that, even with her head start, a couple would be able to catch up before she got through the doors. So she did what any good little survivor would do – she turned, and she threw the knotted sock. It missed by about half a mile. By that time the first zombie had reached her, and Bea had the good fortune to swing at just the right time with her sock flail and take the sucker out. The bits of _had-been_ she picked up were fairly routine – coffee, class, more coffee, X-Box. Then she grabbed another projectile sock from her bag and tossed it at the considerably closer second zombie. This time it hit what she meant it to hit, and the second zombie was out. The remaining three were a bit slower. And bigger. There were rules about tackling (the rules being DON'T), but these were the sort of meatheads who were all about momentum and nil on finesse, or, you know, brakes. She'd be a slick spot on the lawn if they caught her.

So she hightailed it like her life depended on it – which it might have. Her vision was shaking even worse than before, and she wasn't sure if that was due to her increased speed or the giants thundering after her. They _looked_ big enough to cause a small earthquake at running speed… Then the door was in reach. She grasped the handle, trying to reverse her momentum long enough to yank it open. It seemed to take forever, and, feeling like she was moving in slow motion, she stumbled into the building bare seconds before the trio of beefy evil could catch – or kill – her.

For a few seconds she panted for breath, hands on knees, eyes wide. Then she threw up her hands and did a touchdown dance right there in the glass entryway, in front of the zombies, Potts, and anyone still sitting in that shiny car way back across the green. And she didn't care. She was _alive_.

Total. Epic. Win.

Even Potts was smiling when she finally caught up. "Good job," she said. She was definitely laughing, at least on the inside, but Bea didn't care too much. She was laughing on the outside, so what did it matter?

"Ready for the interview?" Bea asked.

"If you are," said Potts.

"Totally. I mean, the adrenaline is still spiking right now, so if you asked me to jump off a building I'd probably be ready for that, too."

Pepper grinned, fishing a digital audio recorder out of her bag. "No buildings, I swear. Just publicity."

"Right, easy-peasy. Sorry for, well, you know, the socks and all."

Potts gave her a _very_ amused look. "I'm sure you've heard about my boss."

"Yeah…"

"Socks and zombies is nothing," Potts said emphatically. "Trust me. All your clothes were on, all your _friends'_ clothes were on, and you didn't even break anything. Seriously. No problem."

"Oh." Bea was momentarily thunder struck. Maybe she hadn't just convinced the representative of Stark Industries that she was utterly unworthy of the money the company had invested in her scholarship. Maybe there wouldn't be need for even a _little_ ice cream this evening. Well, there was always need for a _little_ ice cream, just not such a desperate need.

The two ladies wandered over to a nice little grouping of chairs by the window and got to work. Bea found it surprisingly fun. Not as fun as zombies, of course, but still… she'd have to frame some little sketch for Miss Potts. It was the least she could do after that little scene…

Four years earlier, Bea had battled her way through stiff competition for one of the prized Stark Industries Young Minds Scholarships. It was an impressive achievement. Not only did the program provide a full-ride through any of several prestigious (read EXPENSIVE) universities, but winners of the scholarships were generally offered jobs in some part of Stark Industries or one of its associated companies. In return, the scholarship recipients kept at least a 4.7 GPA, participated in campus life, and did some publicity crap to make Stark Industries look good. The interview fell into the last category. The 'Moving Towards the Future' gala at which the gathered information would be presented fell in as well. And Bea had to attend. She was actually a little ticked about that, because the money she'd saved for real nerf equipment got spent on a nice dress instead. Ah, well, beggars couldn't be choosers, and she'd rather have a job offer than a few more days of life in Humans Vs. Zombies, anyway. Maybe. Possibly. It would be rather responsible for a change.

Once the interview was concluded, Miss Potts shook her hand, smiled again, and walked with her towards the door.

"No offense," Bea said, "but I'm gonna let you go out to meet your ride by yourself. They'll be waiting for me, you know."

"Oh, of course." Judging by her smile, Bea thought that Potts might actually be _enjoying_ this madness. She cast a glance at the socks and giggled – just a little, but definitely a real giggle. "I have to ask, though. Socks? Why?"

"Because I couldn't afford the good stuff," Bea said, shrugging. "So socks it is."

Outside, another shiny and obviously expensive car pulled up to the curb. Potts glanced out the glass doors. "Looks like it's time to go," she said. "Best of luck with your game! I hope you live through the week."

"Me _too._"

"I'll see you at the gala next Friday?"

Bea smiled. "Naturally. If I live long enough."

"Well, do your best then. Have a good day, Miss Doe."

"You, too, Miss Potts."

The red(ish)-head proceeded to the waiting vehicle and took off to deal with the rest of her duties.

Bea camped out in the lounge for several hours, until dinner was half over. Then she sprinted across campus in a wide zig-zag back to her dorm. Once she had showered (running from zombies makes you stink) she plunked herself down on her bed, flipped on the tv and made friends with a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

.O.O.O.

The next day, Bea checked her mail and found a package alert. When she took it up to the desk, the good folks on staff hauled out two _large_ and fairly oddly shaped boxes. Unable to contain her curiosity, Bea pealed them open in the lounge. First was a massive, battery-powered, automatic nerf blaster. More like nerf uzi, actually. The other package held a tremendous nerf broadsword.

Included was a note that simply read: "Because no future employee of mine faces the zombie apocalypse with socks." It was signed by Tony Stark.

So that was who had been in the car. That or Miss Potts had a really boring life, the details of which she often shared with her boss. Regardless… seriously… _wow_.

Bea stood there, in the lounge, holding her weapons. She felt quite epic.

Then she went outside and shot some zombies.

.O.O.O.

Tony wanted to go somewhere and blow stuff up. He said as much to Pepper. Pepper then reminded him that this whole gala-shindig was to _counter_ his self-centered and excessively violent public image. So, in a way, standing here, smiling and insulting people would enable him to blow things up later. He didn't share his logic with Pepper. She wouldn't get it, and then she'd try to make sure he was too busy being responsible later to go blow stuff up. So he just kept being his usual charming self, ticking off important people and downing a lot of champagne.

Could be worse.

Tony's current Pepper-guided public duty was to greet the kids he'd sent to school on the company's dime, kids who would hopefully be working for him in the very near future. A couple had already graduated. One or two were graduating the next day. The rest? Sometime before the next school year started in the fall, he was sure.

This whole meet-and-greet was really a good opportunity for him to tag and categorize the incoming newbs. Most of the time he could assign them to a department at the first glance. Sometimes he could actually figure out which exact slot they could fit into. The unfortunate young man before him with the obvious nerdly tendencies was destined for the deepest depths of the science department, where he'd be recognized for his brain, and his nerdiness would be hidden from the sunlight. Hopefully forever.

When the boy left, Pepper gave him a look.

"What?" he asked. "I'm behaving." It was true. He hadn't said anything to the kid about his obvious lack of a love-life – or need for better shampoo.

"Barely," said Pepper, "and only under obvious duress. You could at least pretend to be happy to meet these people."

"I _am_ pretending," Tony argued. "I'm pretending really, _really_ hard, Mommy." He stepped just a little behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder, summoning the best puppy eyes he could muster. "Do I get a cookie when we're done?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and moved far enough away to reclaim her personal space. Apparently the puppy eyes still needed work.

Next in the line of schmucks was a very short girl. No, not short – _tiny_. She wasn't leggy, or buxom, or curvy, and the top of her head just barely cleared Tony's nose. "Didn't know we were adopting a grade schooler," he said. His assistant turned a marvelous maroon, and Tony grinned, even after she elbowed him in the ribs.

The girl was undaunted. Oh, well… he'd tried to cut down on his patronly duties…

Smiling pleasantly, she stepped up and offered her hand. "Mr. Stark? It's a pleasure. Thank you for continuing the scholarship program."

Tony snagged a martini from a passing server and smiled back, ignoring the hand. "I was just telling Pepper here that I didn't know my company paid kindergarten fees for the under-funded. Guess it's all about a good foundation, though, right?"

The girl raised an eyebrow and continued to smile. Tony realized how _pale_ she was. And how brown. Brown hair, brown eyes, even a brown dress. The color worked for the kid. It was just a lot of, well, brown. The only contrast was the bronze pocket watch she had strung around her neck, ticking away the seconds and exactly on time. Practical.

"I thought you would be more original, Mr. Stark," said the molasses munchkin. "Short jokes? Really? Oh! Thanks for the nerf gear, by the way." She made a mocking little Eastern-style bow. "I stunned many zombies."

Tony froze. Blinked. "You're _that_ kid? Sock girl?"

"Yup."

Well, on to more important matters than height disparities, then. "Did you win?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, actually. We kept the new president alive for the rest of the week, and I never got tagged. Of course, once I had that gun and broadsword you sent, I think a few zombies wet themselves when they saw me."

Important matters dealt with and company (personal) pride maintained, Tony moved back to his previous mode of conversation. "Really? Cause, you know, even fully armed, I don't think you'd strike a very imposing figure."

"Well, people seem awfully impressed despite your stature when you're in the Iron Man suit," said Sock girl.

Pepper snorted and choked on her drink. Tony didn't deign to help her.

"Besides," Sock girl continued, "my diminutive dimensions just make big guns look even bigger. A handgun looks like a bazooka when I hold it. Seriously. It's a gift."

Smirking, Tony took a sip of his martini, trying to figure out where Sock girl would _fit_ in his corporation.

"So, what did you study with all my money?" he asked. Pepper's elbow jabbed between his ribs again. At this rate he was gonna get a heck of a bruise there.

Sock girl seemed to get him, though. Her smile was becoming less polite and more mischievous. Tony always did think that he brought out the best in people.

"Majored in graphic design. Minored in art and advertising."

"Sounds colorful."

"Quite."

Having finally recovered from her near death experience, Pepper managed to say, "Her portfolio is on display over there with all the other student work if you're interested, Mr. Stark."

"I know that." He looked back to Sock girl. "I knew that."

"Never thought otherwise," said Sock girl.

Pepper gave Tony a very knowing look. Tony always hated those looks. It meant that Pepper was going to subtly deliver a kidney-shot of sheer intelligence, leaving Tony's ego bleeding on the floor. His poor little ego. It was so delicate. What had it ever done to her? Deaf to Tony's inner monologue, Pepper continued. "And each display has its respective student's name posted over it in flashy bright lights, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding hers, should you, Mr. Stark?"

Tony stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked quickly between the two women. "Um, no, sure, of course not." He leaned towards Sock girl and demanded in a stage whisper, "What's your name again, sweetheart? Didn't catch it the first time."

"There was no first time." Sock girl offered her hand again. This time, Tony shook it. "Bea Doe. And, before you ask, no, my parents didn't love me."

"Aww," Tony drawled, already looking towards the infamous displays, "I'm sure they _meant_ well."

Discretely, Pepper cleared her throat, but Tony had already jumped into the minefield.

"I was put up for adoption when I was two months old. So, pretty sure, actually."

Then Tony's eyes lit up. "Oohhhhh… I get it. _Doe_ as in _Jane_."

"That was my legal name until I turned eighteen," Bea said, wincing. "Bad as it is, Bea seemed better."

"Certainly more original."

"Not that you'd know anything about that, Mr. Stark."

Once more, Tony turned to Pepper. "I want one," he whined, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at little Bea Doe.

Bea laughed and began stepping away. "Well, it's been fun, but I think there are other people waiting to meet you, Mr. Stark, so…"

"Yeah, sure. Fun meeting you, too," Tony said. He couldn't help but admire the view as she walked away, and for once he was not ogling a girl's assets as he gawked. It was the shoes. Knee high white Converse. Custom painted in colorful doodles and designs. Probably done by hand. "I want shoes like that," he told Pepper.

"I don't think you could pull them off," she said. "Not original enough."

"Whatever," Tony said, swaggering in a leisurely way towards the displays. "So where are we putting her, because we're definitely keeping that. I want it. She plays with nerf guns. She made you snort. And she has awesome shoes. I still want a pair, by the way, and I am totally original enough to pull them off."

"Well, there's an open position in advertising and design, but it's really involved, and though she's pretty well qualified, she doesn't really have a lot of prior experience…"

"You still like her, though, don't you?"

"Well – yes. I mean, she's _good_ with publicity. She knows her stuff, and she makes _us_ look good, too."

"Good. Give her the spot."

There was a hand suddenly clutching his fancy suit, and when he looked down, he found Pepper looking at him very seriously. "I'm alright with it, really, but you've got to realize that she'll be in charge of all art and design in our advertising, packaging…"

"Cool." Tony carefully removed Pepper's hand and started forward again. "Did we order any hor'derves for this party?"

Across the room, he could just barely see his tiny employee-to-be threading her way through the crowd towards a heavily loaded buffet. Poor little twig needed to stuff some rolls down the front of her dress in his opinion…

And then she was gone.

One second he clearly saw her dodging between two ridiculously tall business men, and the next she was simply not there. Not where he had _just_ seen her. Not where she was before. Nowhere. He could feel the frown settling down on his face, but he kept his course and tugged Pepper along with him. Maybe he had just missed her. Maybe she was standing behind that group of… No. Not there, either.

Discretely, Tony strode over to a nearby corner and called up Jarvis. "Jarvis? Can you locate one Bea Doe in this room?"

"I'm afraid Bea Doe is not in the immediate vicinity, sir," Jarvis replied calmly. "I am scanning nearby areas. Please hold for a moment."

Tony wanted to snort at the fact that his own machine had just put him on _hold_, but Pepper was still beside him, looking very confused. "Tony? What is it? Did something happen?"

Though he trusted his tech with his life – every second – he couldn't quite believe that Bea Doe had just literally popped out of existence, so he kept his eyes trained on the crowd, looking for her. "Maybe. Not sure yet."

"Sir?" Jarvis asked.

"What's the report, buddy?" Tony asked.

"Miss Bea is down the north hallway. Present floor. Second room on the left. She appears to be in some distress. May I be of further assistance, sir?"

"No, that'll be all, Jarvis." Tony disengaged himself from his assistant. He gave her an apologetic look and said, "There's something I have to check out."

"I'm not deaf, Tony," said Pepper. "If Bea's hurt then I want to help, too. I'm coming with you."

Knowing better than to start an argument with Pepper, Tony shrugged and headed off to follow Jarvis's directions, leaving Pepper to trail in a flighty nervous manner at his heels. It wasn't that he didn't want her with him, but he wasn't sure what he'd be walking into, and if this turned dangerous then he was worried that Pepper would get in the way, and he meant that in the most dangerous sense. Stopping Pepper was like stopping a train, though – it took a lot of effort and usually a lot of time. He didn't have time. So he let the train come along.

It didn't take them long to reach the room Jarvis had claimed held Miss Doe. Ever cautious, Tony stepped in first. He felt mixed waves of relief and concern crash through him when he found Bea, and only Bea, crumpled on the floor. Pepper shoved past him and dropped to her knees, brushing hair out of the girl's face and checking her pulse. A pool of vomit was lying a foot away from her head, and her ridiculously pale skin had gone a few shades lighter.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Pepper immediately tried to shush her, but Bea was already starting to sit up, looking dazed, disoriented and a little green. "Friends always said I had one white blood cell. Nothing ever snuck up on me that fast before, though." She tried to laugh everything off, lifting a shaky hand to wipe her mouth. But Tony wasn't having it. Something had unsettled her. Something had teleported her from one room to another instantaneously, and dang it if he wasn't going to… He noticed the pocket watch that was still dangling from Bea's neck. Whipping out his cell phone, he compared the two times. The perfectly timed clock was now two and a half minutes fast.

"You didn't teleport," he murmured.

"What?"

"You didn't teleport," he said, louder. He held up the two time keepers. "You _stopped time_."

**A/N:** I respond to all reviews, so start dropping 'em! Also, I have no official plans to ship the OC with anyone. I'm considering another OC, or maybe a quasi-Loki ship (I'll let you figure out the 'quasi'). Input? Ideas? Flames will be used to light the incense burner my brother gave for graduation, thankyaverrymuch.

**Next Chapter: In Which Coulson Eats Coffeecake**


	2. In Which Coulson Consumes Coffeecake

**Disclaimer: Me no own.**

**Chapter 2: In Which Coulson Consumes Coffeecake**

Tony Stark was not a very intimidating man when he was out of the suit. Sarcastic, yes. Annoying, certainly. Not intimidating. Which he was trying to be at the moment. Bea had to discretely nibble on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the down-right possessive stance he had taken behind the couch, where Bea sat beside the ever-lovely Pepper Potts. Sitting opposite in a rickety kitchen chair was a man in a very boring suit. One Agent Coulson. On the table between the two parties was an eclectic arrangement of paperwork, coffee, tea, and coffeecake. None of the cups matched, and all the plates had little chips or cracks in them. The effect was artsy – the prices had been cheap.

Miss Potts was poring over the papers, Stark wasn't touching anything (because that would detract from being 'intimidating'), Bea was _holding_ (but not really drinking) a cup of tea, and Agent Coulson was slowly and very politely eating a piece of coffeecake.

The first words Bea had said to the man when he stepped into her little apartment were, "You're scary – could you eat some coffeecake, please?"

It was hard to be intimidated by a man who ate coffeecake, and Agent Coulson had accepted her request with good grace _and_ good manners. Though he tended to be a bit abrupt with his words (especially those aimed towards Mr. Stark), he wasn't making an overt effort to be threatening. It must come naturally. Still, the coffeecake helped. He had also accepted a cup of coffee to go with his coffeecake (which just made sense), and the image of the man in black sipping coffee fit very well. It made him more relatable.

He looked up briefly from his treats, making eye contact with Bea. She smiled tentatively at him and he gave the smallest little smirk in return. It looked like it might have hurt – either his face, or his soul.

"So," Mr. Stark said, still convinced that he was intimidating, "now that we're all _cozy_, care to explain _one more time_ what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants with my employee?"

Bea smiled to herself, glowing just a little bit on the inside. She wasn't just an employee. She was head of _design_. She got to _design_ crap. She would never have to suck up to a middling overseer ever again. Ever.

Coulson very carefully set down the plate of coffeecake, looking just a little saddened by the separation. Bea took this as praise of her limited culinary skills and decided that, scary or not, she liked the man. "As I said before, Mr. Stark, we have no _active_ interest in Miss Doe. She is an untrained civilian, and would therefore serve little practical purpose in our organization. However, the fact remains that she is an untrained civilian who _manipulates time_. We are obviously interested in keeping an eye on her. Consider this a courtesy call."

Mr. Stark frowned even deeper. "Speaking of which, I still don't understand how you found out about the whole time bendy thing."

Agent Coulson merely smiled. He didn't have to answer, and clearly had no interest in doing so.

"If it's alright, Miss Doe, I've been instructed to go over your abilities while I'm here. We want our file to be very thorough so we will only have to interrupt your life when absolutely necessarily in the future," he said.

"Abilities?" Bea asked. "You mean, like, not normal people stuff?" Coulson nodded. "Well… I don't know. I mean, the only time I've ever messed with, well, _time_ was at the gala."

Busy taking notes now, Coulson asked, "Have you tried to perform the same action since then?"

"Um – no. I threw up last time and it was gross. Besides, it was kinda freaky."

Miss Potts glanced over at her, then placed a hand over one of Bea's. The silent show of support helped Bea rally herself. Mr. Stark and his personal assistant had been amazingly supportive over the last few days. First there had been the night of the gala, when Miss Potts had brought her a cool cloth to wipe her mouth, and a glass of water to swish with. Then there was the next day, when she opened her email to find a message welcoming her to the organization. When she showed up for her first day of work, Miss Potts personally walked her through the routine, showing her the trick to getting the coffee machine to work, warning her about the hours Mr. Stark tended to get bored and bother his employees. Lastly, there was the fact that Mr. Stark had personally come out to her apartment when he heard that S.H.I.E.L.D. had shown up. It was incredible. By this point Bea thought she owed Miss Potts a painting the size of Monet's "Water Lilies," because everyone knew that whatever good Tony Stark did was due to Miss Potts' influence and pestering.

Over the past week, Bea had discovered three grey hairs. None of them lasted very long, of course, meeting an abrupt end courtesy of the tweezers, but their collective presence worried Bea. Was she going prematurely grey? She wasn't even twenty-two yet. How did that happen? Tony Stark must be a more stressful acquaintance than she'd realized. It was a miracle that Miss Potts hadn't gone grey yet. But maybe it was a side-effect of time travel. It wasn't like 'side-effects of time travel' was a category on WebMD or anything, and it certainly wasn't a very broadly studied field. She'd have to Google it later.

Honestly, though, Bea was beginning to think that she didn't need Iron Man and his fearless assistant as back-up. She had this. Agent Coulson didn't seem so bad, especially when he was eating coffeecake.

"Have you experienced any extra sensory capabilities associated with this ability?" Coulson asked.

"Maybe?" Three pairs of eyes fixed on her, waiting for an explanation. "There's the _had-been_ bits that I see. Sometimes _to-be_ bits, too."

"You mean like nineties boy bands and the stuff hipsters liked _yesterday_?" Mr. Stark asked.

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to clarify, Miss Doe?"

Squirming on the couch, Bea considered her answer. "They're like little pieces of someone's history, or the possibilities in their futures. Usually they're just little things, close to the present, though I've been able to see more remote bits, especially older ones, as I've gotten older."

Another note got jotted down in Coulson's book. "So this ability is connected to age?"

"Maybe? Yes? Sorta? I guess? Sorry, I'm afraid I'm not very helpful." Bea frowned. "It's – it's like trying to explain what make tea so great to a coffee-drinker. Or vice versa, I guess. Maybe like describing how it feels to make art. It just doesn't translate."

Coulson gave her another little smile. Bea was worried that he might permanently damage his dangerous-agent-aura. "Oh, I think it's translating well enough." He rose from the kitchen chair and shook hands with her and Miss Potts. "Thank you for your time. You've been _very_ cooperative." Bea wasn't sure if she imagined the look the agent threw at Mr. Stark or not. "We'll be in touch."

"Yeah, about that." Mr. Stark came sauntering around the couch, his 'intimidating' frown etched into his face with deep lines. "When you say 'be in touch' does that mean you're gonna steal my head of design for extended periods without notice? Because that's gonna suck for my company."

"Yes, I'm sure it would," Coulson said as he turned away from the door. "You can use all the help you can get, Mr. Stark." Then he turned towards the doorknob again.

Miss Potts snorted. Mr. Stark glared. Bea twittered.

"You didn't answer the question," Mr. Stark pressed.

With a resigned sigh, Coulson turned back from the door _again_ and said, "If there is ever a need for Miss Doe to be moved – for matters of national security, of course – you will be duly informed."

"Yeah, see, I think you and I have very different ideas about what I'm due, though," Mr. Stark pressed.

"I'm sure we do, Mr. Stark," Agent Coulson said. "But be that as it may, I can make no definite statements on the matter aside from the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. has no immediate plans involving Miss Doe whatsoever. Your head of design is safe, Mr. Stark."

"Good, because, you know, I found her first."

Bea was fairly sure that she saw Coulson roll his eyes. Just a little. It made her like him even more. "Have a good day, Mr. Stark."

Then the poor agent finally succeeded in leaving the apartment.

.O.O.O.

Bea _loved_ her office. It had everything she could have dreamed of and more, because, well, Tony Stark had designed the building, and Miss Potts had supplied the work area, so it was a perfect mix of practicality and the most _amazingly advanced technical miracles_ the world had yet to see. The space was white and clean, computers built into many of the work surfaces for optimum efficiency and convenience. Everything was shiny. Even the ceiling.

And what was Bea Doe, Stark Industries' head of design, doing with such a marvelous work space?

Finger painting.

Red, gold, blue, green, and burnt umber covered her fingers. Her palms were psychedelic swirls of brown, orange, forest green, and, of course, the five colors she had started with. The large sheet of paper before her was a now well-smudged, a unique, rain-splattered rainbow of Bea's own creation. Most importantly, the colors shifted into each other with the perfect amount of _im_perfection.

"You know," a voice said from behind her, "we do have computers for that kind of thing." Mr. Stark sauntered into her field of vision, cradling and espresso cup. "I _gave_ you those computers. _Designed_ them even. What's wrong with my computers?"

"Your computers are too precise," Bea said, wiping her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. She knew that when she looked in a mirror she'd discover about a bazillion multicolored splotches all over her face, but at least she could _try_ to keep the paint out of her _hair_…

Mr. Stark quirked an eyebrow at her. "I don't think I've heard someone complaining about my tech being _too_ precise before."

"First for everything." Bea flicked the excess paint on her hands over her work, adding a few nice little sprays of drops. It was a good effect. "This event is supposed to attract the young urban artist types. We agreed that we should aim for a basic theme, focusing more on color, less on form. _Nothing_ is more basic and color-based than abstract finger painting. Trust me."

Mr. Stark shrugged. "Still have computers that do that."

"Not the same, man, trust me." Bea looked down at her hands, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do with them now. "You've got to realize that 'young urban artist types' translates about half the time into 'hipster.' The other half of the time it translates into 'very enthusiastic artist.' Both categories would know tech-art when they saw it. Nothing wrong with tech-art, when it's _supposed_ to be tech-art, but you can't pass tech-art off as real finger painting to a crowd like that. This is better. And I'll still be using your shiny nice computers – once it dries. Then I have to scan it in so I can manipulate it for backgrounds."

"What are you going to do with the original?" Mr. Stark took a drink of his espresso. "Frame it?"

"I might incorporate it into the banner for the event… but maybe I will frame it and take it home afterwards. My apartment could use some more color."

"Well, that is a _lot_ of color."

Bea blew a raspberry at him. "And that's a _tiny_ cup, Mr. Stark."

"No," Mr. Stark corrected, "it's 'that's a tiny cup, _Tony_.'"

"Not while I'm working for you."

"Well, you work for me, have for – what – a year now? And I'm your boss, and I think you should call me Tony."

"Do I make you feel old, Mr. Stark?"

"No."

"Hmm. Need to try harder. Or maybe you're just so old you've forgotten how old you are."

"Whatever you say, Ducky."

Bea smeared her hand over Mr. Stark's face. Her boss had tried out lots of nicknames on her. 'Ducky' was the worst. He had invented it about a month ago, once it was clear that Bea _was_ going prematurely grey, and little clumps of tarnished silver had started sprouting all over her scalp. With her brown hair, she did in fact look rather like a baby duck halfway through puberty. An especially ugly duck. So she was the Ugly Duckling, and thus 'Ducky' was born.

Blinking, Mr. Stark touched his face, then gazed silently at the blue paint on his fingertips. "I am so firing you."

Bea didn't even bother looking up from her work. "You so said that last week."

"Children!"

Both employer and employee jumped at the sound of Miss Potts' voice.

"Honestly," she said as she tapped her way across the room in her tidy little heels, "can't the two of you play nice for – hrmmph!" She actually had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at her boss's (very blue, green, red, gold, and burnt umber) face.

Bea gave Mr. Stark a very triumphant look. He folded his arms over his chest and gave both women a very stony look. "You were saying, Miss Potts?"

"A-ahh," Miss Potts choked, coughed, cleared her throat, and tried again. "I was saying that you have an appointment, Mr. Stark."

"I know that."

"An appointment you're late for, Mr. Stark."

"Knew that, too."

"Mr. Stark…"

"I'll be there in five minutes," Mr. Stark conceded. "But first," he gave Bea a very meaningful look, "I have to wash. My. Face."

"Yes, Mr. Stark," both women answered.

Frowning, Tony Stark marched, very deliberately, out of the room.

"I probably shouldn't encourage you," Miss Potts said, "but I think I want to shake your hand, Miss Doe."

"Um…" Bea laughed, holding up her goopy hands. "I think we'd better save that for later, Miss Potts."

"Of course." Miss Potts nodded, smiling. "Have a good day, Miss Doe. I'll check in from time to time while Mr. Stark and I work on the tower in New York."

"That's almost done, isn't it?" Bea asked, hunting for a towel, or a tissue, or _something_ to wipe her hands clean with.

"Yes. We should be back in about a month." Potts smiled again. "Take care, Bea. We'll be in touch."

"Awesome. Thanks."

Miss Potts clicked away, closing the door behind her.

Then Bea tried to figure out how she would clean her hands with no sink and no hand wipes. She glanced at the closed door and felt her stomach fill with lead. How was she going to…?

.O.O.O.

Loki had known that it would be a strain to travel between worlds and launch directly into the first of what he anticipated to be many battles. He had known that it would be a strain to directly control so many hearts. He had known and he had prepared, but it was still taking a toll on him. Repressing a shudder of fatigue, he watched as his stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives scurried to do his bidding. Such devoted service. It made him smile.

One of his new devotees was neatly organizing all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. files he had access to into two separate folders on a computer: useful and not useful. It seemed that S.H.I.E.L.D. liked to be well-informed – on _everything. _There were schematics of the great Helicarrier, life histories of various agents _and _civilians, and records of every restaurant, hotel, park, etc. where S.H.I.E.L.D. business had ever been carried out. Some was tremendously useful, vital even. Some never had been, presently wasn't, and never would be worth the memory it was saved in. Loki watched over his agent's shoulder as he worked, briefly scanning through anything that looked interesting before he allowed it to be filed. But he didn't interrupt. This agent was good at his job.

Then a file came up that caught Loki's eye due almost entirely to its seeming innocuousness. It was fairly short, composed of a photograph, a brief bio, and location. The photo was of a young woman, so small she almost looked like a child. But despite her apparent youth, her hair showed patches of grey. He clapped his hand on the agent's shoulder, and the man froze half-way through the process of filing away the entry as 'not useful.' Loki's eyes were fixed on the bio. _Time_. The girl could manipulate _time. _Only one people possessed such magic, and, as far as he knew, they had never come to Midgard.

He had thought they were gone, everyone thought they were gone. Odin All-Father had even spoken of the loss. After all, the All-Father had been there at the fatal battle where the Chronos were massacred. What he was reading, what he was _seeing,_ simply could not be true. He checked the age again. Twenty-two. A juvenile Chronos, living amongst humans, none of them aware of what she would become. Loki had to close his eyes, and his breath shuddered as he let it out.

"Sir?"

Loki peered back over his shoulder at Barton, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pet _hawk_. Then he glanced at the time on the computer screen. There was still time. Plenty of it, in fact. Barton would not be needed for several more hours at the very least.

"I have a job for you."

.O.O.O.

Bea could feel her energy draining away as she opened the door to her apartment. Without Pepper Potts around, no one ever seemed to know quite what to do. Things still got done (because Pepper could be reached via cell phone and email, of course) but they seemed to take longer, and nerves got frayed faster. Never before had there been so many death threats over a badly brewed cup of coffee. It was one of those moments where Bea was glad she was a tea drinker – until she realized that they were out. Another sure sign that Miss Potts hadn't been around lately.

Blowing out a gust of a breath, Bea hung her coat on its hook and kicked off her shoes. She could use some ice cream, but she was all out, and she wasn't interested in going back out to the store to get more. That would require energy, and energy was something she was sadly lacking at the moment. She'd rather just get ready for bed and officially end the day.

So she went to the window and started messing with the blinds. Over a year she'd been living in that apartment, and the wicked blinds still confounded her. As she tried to coax them into closing, she noticed that the window was open. She was pretty sure she'd pulled it shut before she left, but she wasn't sure if she'd latched it. If she hadn't latched it, then the wind could conceivably have pushed it back open that little bit… conceivably. Only half consciously, she reached for her phone. It was out of her pocket and her contacts list was pulled up before she even really registered what she was doing. Seriously? Who was she going to call about the fact that the window was left open? Unless someone had opened it…

Bea crouched down to get a better look at the windowsill, wondering if a possible intruder might have left footprints or scratches or something. And then there was a hand over her mouth and nose, immediately cutting off her air. A second arm swung around to pin her arms to her sides, but Bea managed to swing back one elbow before she was snared. There was a definitely masculine grunt from her attacker, and every self-defense lesson Bea had ever learned jumped into her mind. Her arms were out, so she used her feet – kicking, stomping, _anything_. While the man was distracted, Bea bit down as hard as she could on the hand trying to suffocate her. He pulled back enough to give Bea some room, and she took the opportunity to crack her head back in his face. Well, she was short, so part of his face. At least his mouth. Definitely his jaw. Maybe his nose.

Whatever she hit, it discombobulated him long enough for Bea to slip free. She dropped to all fours – right out of his arms – and then sprang up and away towards freedom. Fingers fumbling, she hit the first name listed on her phone. Turns out she didn't have any friends whose names started with 'A,' so the first name was _Agent Coulson_. There wasn't really time to _talk_ to the guy or anything, but she slapped the speaker button as she ran, hoping that he'd pick up on the situation. Well, he was a secret agent man, so if anyone could figure out what was happening via speaker phone with only strange noises to go by, it was probably him. She got as far as the door before her assailant caught up with her. Instead of going through the door, she went into it, and she met it with a breathless squeak. The man's hand held her head against the hard wood, the bulk of him kept her pinned. It was a much harder position to fight from.

Her breath rebounded from the wood, blowing back in her face, ruffling her hair, enforcing the sensation of _being trapped_. Bea panicked.

She'd tried several times in the privacy of her own apartment to bend time like she had at the Stark gala all those months ago, but the ability was flighty and often did not function on command. She strained to reach for it, to follow the path along the wisps of _have-beens_ and _might-bes_ until she reached the center of her abilities, but she was shaking all over, even in her own head, and the delicate skill proved _too_ delicate to grasp.

Then something sharp stabbed into her arm, and she looked down to see an arrow jutting out of her tricep. "What the _heck?_" She was under assault from Errol Flynn? She could actually feel her heartbeat begin to slow, and she gave a few desperate twists – probably more like twitches – against the door. "Oh, help." Her breathing slowed. Her body became impossibly heavy. Everything became fuzzy and dark, and the last sensation Bea was aware of was melting away into oblivion.

**A/N: So, I like talking with people who read this fic, it lets me pretend that I have a social life. In order to converse with you, my lovelies, you must drop a review. Because then I get MORE readers I can talk to. This works well for all. So, support the starving artist and leave a message in the pretty little box below.**

**Annon Replies:  
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**EmmBea: Hello, my darling! I didn't showcase really any of Bea's talents in this (except finger painting, which is totally a superpower), but there will be some in the next chapter, I think. So keep on my case and help me chain down my vampiric tree frog.  
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**Sam Green: Just so you know, I miss your face. And I'm holding your water bottle hostage. It has a place of honor between my muse and Copernicus on my top shelf. I must confess to thinking of Heather when I came up with Bea. Small, brown, and a powerhouse of awesomeness and artistic talent.  
**


	3. In Which Coulson Calls In

Disclaimer: They called it. I don't own _Avengers_.

Chapter 3: In Which Coulson Calls In

Coulson had just dropped Miss Potts at the airstrip when his cell rang. With practiced grace, he pulled the device from his pocket and answered. "Coulson."

There was no immediate answer. Actually, there was no traditional _answer_ at all. But there was noise. Rapid footsteps and harsh breathing. Then heavier footsteps.

There must be a situation, then. Coulson checked the number of the incoming call and then put his thumb over the mouthpiece.

"New destination," he informed his driver. No panic edged his tone. He didn't even sound rushed. But, although his voice was pleasant, there was the slightest shadow of a frown on his face, and it spoke volumes. "41 Grayson Street, apartment building three."

"Yes, sir."

The wheel spun, and Coulson wordlessly weathered the bump over the curb and the leaning tug of centrifugal force as his driver performed a flawlessly illegal u-turn. Neither of the car's occupants paid any mind to the blaring horns all around them. All of the driver's attention was focused on his work, and all of Coulson's was fixed on the sounds coming through his phone.

The sounds were not very pretty, and did not bode well at all. There was a meaty thud, followed by some wheezing and the breathy rustles of clothing caught in a tussle. After that came a light squelching _thunk_, and Coulson's frown grew deeper. He heard Miss Doe exclaim, "What the _heck_?" … and then the rustles began to slow. "Oh, help."

Coulson could tell exactly when Miss Doe lost consciousness. He could hear the noises change from the racket of two competing forces to one confident set of motions. Footsteps. Shuffling. The whisper of a closing window.

He leaned in his seat to see the street signs they were flying past. There was no doubt that they would be too late to aid Miss Doe. It would take at least five more minutes to reach her apartment, even ignoring traffic laws, and no assassin or kidnapper worth his salt would still be there after so many seconds had elapsed.

Coulson's certainty was confirmed when he stepped into the empty apartment. It was clear that there had been a struggle, and the unlocked window across the room was clearly the exit route. When he looked down, he was confronted with the tiniest dot of red on the carpet.

By this point, Coulson was most definitely frowning, and, with that frown firmly in place, he lifted his phone and dialed his boss.

"We have a situation," he said.

His voice was still marvelously relaxed.

"Subject 'Stopwatch' has been taken. Do we have an available course of action?"

He listened patiently to his instructions.

"No, I agree, sir," he said after a moment. "I believe this would only serve to distract Mr. Stark. Keep all information related to this incident on a need to know basis. Understood, sir."

Then Agent Coulson replaced the phone in his pocket and exited the apartment, relocking the door before he left.

Bea Doe's phone was left humming the dial tone on the floor.

.O.O.O.

The air tasted cold.

That was the first thing Bea realized as she floated back towards consciousness. The next was that she _felt_ cold. Her arm was throbbing with the sharp memory of recent damage, and the icy air danced over the wound with little frozen daggers. When she pulled in a breath of air, her lungs shivered.

The work of several minutes finally enabled her to open her eyes. She was not at home. She was somewhere underground, perhaps an abandoned subway – something built from aged bricks and concrete. Plastic hung down in sheets like veils from the ceiling, turning the people behind them into warped shadow puppets. Bea had to close her eyes against her rising nausea. Whatever had been on that arrow – whatever had knocked her out – left a doozy of a hang-over.

"Sir."

Bea jumped at the sudden voice, turning to see a soldier with disturbingly blue eyes and a bow standing to her left. And up. He was standing up. Bea realized that she must be lying down, then, judging by the angle from which she was seeing the man's face. With far more effort than she should have had to use, Bea wedged her hands under herself, slowing levering up to a sitting position. She glanced at the soldier again. There was definitely something wrong with those eyes.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" she asked. Well, whispered, really. Her voice felt like it had just up and died on her. Maybe because of the cold, or maybe because of whatever nightmarish knock-out juice had been stabbed into her arm.

The soldier barely spared her a glance before looking back towards the shadow puppet world beyond the plastic. "She's awake."

Oh, so chatty. But, anyway, Bea really didn't have much time for the soldier, presumably the one who had stabbed her with an _arrow_ since he was holding a _bow_, because her whole world was spinning. All she could do was close her eyes. When she opened them, another man was stepping into their little plastic play tent. He was tall, whereas Robin Hood was on the shortish side. Not that Bea was one to talk. Still, the additional height made him far more intimidating. That and the armor. Though he wasn't from any military Bea recognized, the man was clearly a warrior. The smooth way he moved confirmed it.

And he was clever. Lots of people were clever, but those who actually _used_ their abilities, often in an aggressive way, had some special glint of awareness in their eyes. This man's eyes were very aware. Very aware and very grey, like the color had been leached out of them. Their paleness was made all more apparent by the bright greens and golds in his clothes. And the contrast between his raven hair and ashen face was just unnerving. If he'd been healthy he might have been beautiful, but the purple shadows bleeding through his waxy skin reminded Bea of bruising on a corpse.

When he looked at her, he smiled. A big, toothy smile, looking almost relieved, obviously deluded, possibly demented, and clearly dangerous.

Very snake-like. And Bea was feeling more than ever like an awkward baby duck, too dizzy to move, too confused to put up any kind of defense.

In that moment, she really missed Tony.

Tony. Not Mr. Stark, because she wasn't working for him at the moment. Not that she would ever confess to even _thinking_ of him as Tony, because then he'd never shut-up about it, and then he'd make her call him that all the time, but it shouldn't matter since she was never going to see him again because, _ah crap_, she was going to die.

While Bea struggled to sort herself out, the man in green approached, taking long slow steps towards her resting place on the floor. The broken smile had slipped off his face, and he looked mildly _concerned_. Bea didn't like the intensity he was regarding her with, though. In another second he was down on one knee in front of her (it was not a very big plastic play tent), and a hand was reaching out.

Bea did what anyone in her situation would do. She flopped. What she meant to do was scoot, skitter, or just generally _move away_ from the Greenie Meanie, but her body was still trying to figure out what muscles were for, and was therefore very uncooperative. The end result was that she lost all the altitude she had gained by propping herself up earlier and got to kiss the concrete. _Owwwwwchie_.

The Greenie Meanie shifted, pulling back and raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. I come in peace and all that crap. Bea wasn't buying it. Not that she could do much to stop him if he planned on using her for plant food, like in _War of the Worlds_, or anything, but she could still level one nasty glare. She'd managed to toast Tony with it once or twice.

Mr. Stark.

Tony.

Whatever.

"I assure you that I mean you no harm," said Mr. Green.

Bea actually growled a little bit. In the back of her throat. Just a little. "You had your henchie stab me with an _arrow_. That is not only archaic, but also very harmful, thank you very much."

She was pretty sure that the henchie in question glared at her for calling his method of pain-dealing archaic, but she was swiftly distracted by Mr. Green's laugh.

"You are welcome," he said.

Bea blinked. Was he _teasing_ her?

But the levity drained quickly from his face, and he said in all (apparent) seriousness, "That was not meant to happen. My order was for you to be brought to me unscathed, and Agent Barton will suffer the consequences of his actions. But now," he held his hands out again, "first thing's first. May I?" He nodded towards her arm, and for a few seconds Bea looked from Mr. Green to the little bloody tunnel in her skin, at a loss. Mr. Green seemed to take this as permission and took a hold of her limb.

Immediately, Bea tensed. His hands were cold and smooth. Living in such a chilly place couldn't possibly be doing his extremities any favors. Still, they were just so _cold_. For a few moments he was content to turn her arm back and forth in the weak light, examining the wound. Then he started _touching it_. And it was not pleasant. She tried to jerk away, but she might as well have tried to escape from Tony in his Iron Man suit, because Mr. Green had a very firm grip. Something that felt like ice dropped into her arm, and she gasped. It spread out from the hurt place until her entire arm was numb with cold. After that everything started itching, the sort of itch that nibbles away under scabs - a healing itch.

"There." Mr. Green released her arm, and Bea gawked at the smooth unbroken flesh that stretched over the arrow wound, or, rather, what used to be the arrow wound, because every trace of the violent encounter was gone. "All better."

She felt a bit breathless. She was more than a little impressed, honestly. This was magic. Magic or science far beyond anything on Earth. Wouldn't Tony be jealous?

Bea took a few deep breaths and then said, "Thank you."

She couldn't believe she'd just thanked her kidnapper. Well, he had just gone all Harry Potter on her arm (and he didn't even need a wand), so maybe she could believe it.

He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. This guy should meet Tony. They'd be sure to love each other after they'd killed each other a few times. "You are welcome," he said. "And now I believe introductions are in order." Still crouching, he straightened his back, and suddenly he seemed somewhat regal, even though he was still on his knees. "I am Loki Laufeyson, rightful king of Asgard and Jotunheim."

"Loki?" Bea asked. "As in Norse mythology Loki? God of mischief?"

The knowing smirk he gave her was all the answer she needed. "Why are you here? Or have you always been here? Also, why the heck do you want _me_ here?"

"So many questions, Miss Doe," he said, the teasing tone from earlier creeping back into his voice. But Bea didn't find it funny. She had not told him her name. He shouldn't know it. And he shouldn't look so smug. It was making her intestines try to climb up inside of her liver. "I think we both know why I chose to bring you here. I have come to free this world, and I will not risk losing so precious a prize."

She'd get back to the whole 'precious prize' thing. Firstly… "Free it from what?" Bea could think of any number of things the world would be better without. She wouldn't mind if the world was freed from the burden of Tony Stark's ego, for example, or from the island of plastic trash in the Pacific…

"From freedom."

Pardon moi? "Umm…" Bea struggled to find words that could explain to the Norse god of mischief that that he was basing his great quest on an oxymoron. "Not to be daft or anything, but I don't think I get it."

He looked at her like she was some precocious student – a very _young_ precocious student who had just asked why water never fell _up_. "Humans," he said, "are a weak race. They have great might in numbers, but they are each so consumed with the need for individuality and _freedom_ that they break their own strength. Humans need a ruler. They have always been destined to kneel at the feet of the mighty." Loki lifted a hand to his chest, his expression growing intensely earnest. "I come to give them that. I will relieve humanity of its terrible burden and guide this realm into glory."

Ah. Right. Well. Crap.

The man was guano- insane. And seemingly bent on world domination.

"I hate to be the one to break this to you," Bea said slowly, "but I don't think your plan is going to go over too well with the general populace. We humans tend to, you know, _enjoy_ freedom."

"Humans are deluded," Loki scoffed, "all the more reason to bring them to heel. And, 'we'?" Again, the fond aren't-you-just-precious smile. "Surely you know better."

"'We' as in we humans, like, the human race. I'm sort of one of them you know."

This actually seemed to surprise him. Bea wondered exactly what he thought he was getting when he sicced Robin Hood on her.

"Surely you do not – Haven't you found that…" He frowned, contemplating her with those pale grey eyes. "Truly, you think you are of Midgard."

"I'm from Earth if that's what you mean," Bea offered. She tapped the floor by her head, raising her eyebrows. "Earth, as in this planet we're both sitting on… or in. We're underground so I'm not sure about the semantics there."

"Bea Doe," Loki said, all seriousness. "You are not of Midgard. You are not of any realm."

"Yes I am."

"No, you most assuredly are not."

Bea was in no way comfortable with the look on his face. Or the tone of his voice for that matter. It was like he was trying to break this to her gently. Like he actually cared. Like he was actually serious.

"I have seen the file S.H.I.E.L.D. compiled about your abilities," he said. "There is only one race in all of the Nine Realms and beyond who can bend time. You are of the Chronos, Bea Doe. You are from a race that is believed extinct."

"Well, I'd hate to be responsible for wrecking a guy's faith, so I'm gonna go with – your beliefs are correct: whoever these people were, they're dead; I'm not one of them and you just picked the wrong file."

"You have not denied that you can bend time," Loki pointed out.

"Well, there was that one time…"

Loki interrupted her. "I know – I know how difficult it is to find your origins a lie, but, believe me, you are not what you believe yourself to be."

Bea gritted her teeth. If anyone's belief system was going to be wrecked that day, it wasn't going to be hers.

"How do you explain your hair? It is a sign that your abilities have begun to manifest themselves."

"Have you met Tony Stark? No? Well, if you do then you'll totally get why I'm going grey."

For a second Loki looked confused, but he quickly brushed it aside and pressed on. "_Believe_ me, Bea Doe. This is only the beginning. Your control will mature with your years, and before your first century has passed, you will be a master of the hours."

First _century_? First? She had only expected to live through one. Even that was asking a lot.

Bea felt very sick. She had to take a moment to swallow down the bile swimming up her throat.

"I am sorry to be the one to tell you," Loki said. "I truly thought that you knew."

Ignoring him, Bea (shakily) pushed herself back up into a sitting position. It was a little easier this time. Whatever had been put into her system was starting to leave it.

"I don't believe you."

"No," Loki said, "I imagine you wouldn't. But, be that as it may, it does not change the truth."

Then his expression frosted over, and he rose to his feet. Two hands grabbed Bea's arms and hoisted her up also. Hello again, Robin Hood.

Loki passed his hands around a narrow block of air and conjured a small green stone. Robin Hood's grip tightened. Bea, eyeing the stone, wondered if it was time to panic.

"I am sorry," Loki said, "but this will not be pleasant."

With collected calm, he lifted the little stone in two fingers and pressed it against Bea's skin at the point directly between her collarbones. It felt exactly as one would imagine a blunt object being slowly forced into one's flesh would feel. Painful. Very, very painful. Like an anvil on the chest, or a hot poker. It was so cold it burned. Loki was murmuring words under his breath that Bea didn't understand – magic, no doubt – and Agent Barton (aka Robin Hood) had her in such a tight grip that she could barely even twitch.

To give her credit, Bea did not scream. She did yell, though. Quite a lot.

When Loki finally withdrew his hand, she was breathless.

At least she wasn't crying.

Then Robin Hood released her, and Bea (amazingly) remained standing. Her hand flew to where Loki had placed the stone, and found it resting there, half imbedded in her flesh like a permanent chainless pendant.

For the second time in fifteen minutes, Bea thought she was going to throw up.

Instinctively, she tried to pry her fingernails down around the rock, tried to pull it free, but it wouldn't budge, and Loki pulled her hand away, holding it in his own.

"It will not come out, no matter how deep you scratch or how hard you pry," he said. "By this token, I will always find you."

Bea was very sorely tempted to just throw up on his shoes. Right there.

"Come," he adjusted his grip so that he was leading her by the arm out of the tent and into the armed madness beyond. "There is much to be done."

A/N: So, not a very long chapter, but a very long scene. With Loki. And something resembling a plot has actually been set in motion, so I feel that we are making progress.

My reviewers are officially funnier than I am. Prize of the chapter goes to something-i'll-remember for being freaking hilarious.

I was asked in a review what the pairs would be in this. I plan on sticking to the regular ships (like Pepperony), but I am CONSIDERING shipping Bea to someone. There might be a creepy quasi-ship with Loki, maybe an official ship if I get enough pressure for that (and I might actually know how to work that out believably, believe it or not). I am also considering another OC for Bea to bat her eyes at. (OhmigoshBea'.)

So, yeah, reviews actually count. Like, a lot. More reviews also mean faster updates. And, just so you know, I accept reviews from anons, so if you don't have an account you can still talk with me. Speaking of which...

EmmBea: Thankies as always, m'darlin'! Here's more for thee!


	4. In Which Migraines are Made

**Disclaimer: Me no own and you no sue, dooda, dooda...**

**Chapter 4: In Which Migraines are Made**

Loki didn't have much time for Bea after that, and she was grateful. From the plastic play tent, he escorted her to a boxy little room that was either the empty shell of a storage closet or an office in a past life. It was gutted and smelled like cardboard and mildew. Robin Hood stepped in first to sweep the room. Not in the cleaning sense of the word. In the militaristic make-sure-there's-absolutely-nothing-useful-in-here way. Then he gave a nod to the god of mischief, and said mischievous one guided Bea inside, one hand holding hers, the other pushing against the small of her back.

So chivalrous. So demented. Bea was regretting not heaving on his boots.

"I apologize for the inelegance of the accommodations," Loki said, removing his hand from her back. "But I'm afraid this will have to do until we next move."

"'We'?" Bea asked mockingly.

She won a slight smile for her little snark, and then Loki placed a kiss on her knuckles. By that point, the drugs were completely out of Bea's system, and the mettle was back in her mojo. Kidnapping was one thing. Getting all kissy was another. The _instant_ he released her hand, Bea began wiping it off furiously against her pants leg. Her glare could've curdled milk, summoned lightning, or drilled a hole through the skull of saner men, but all Loki did was laugh.

"I'm afraid I must be leaving," he said.

"Oh, _must_ you?" Bea imagined she could taste the venom dripping from her sarcasm.

Again, she got nothing but amusement from the horned toad. This time, a smirk for her antics.

"Yes, I _really_ must," he said. "But I shall return shortly. In the meantime, I have given orders for you to be well-treated and transported with the Tesseract."

"The what, now?"

"I will explain in due time," Loki promised. Personally, Bea was willing to forego the explanation if it meant she didn't have to see his smirking snakey face again. "Until then, behave. Remember…" He reached out and pointedly tapped the little stone in her chest. The noise made her wince. Such an inorganic sound shouldn't be coming from her epidermis.

Loki met her eyes and lifted his eyebrows.

Message received.

Run and I'll find you again.

"Whatever."

Loki smiled again, Robin Hood at his heels. The archer gave her one last look and then slammed the door. The _clang_ was loud and distinctly metal. Basic physics argued that someone Bea's size had no chance against such a door. Bea tried to rush it, anyway.

The force of impact sent her flying back a good six feet, and she knew right away that her shoulder would never forgive her. While she was pretty sure she hadn't done any permanent damage, the temporary damage was staggeringly painful. Recent warm memories of a rock being implanted in her chest helped detract from the current spasms of _ouchiness_, though. It was hard to compete with that level of pain.

Once the alarm bells stopped ringing in her head, Bea propped herself up and decided to come up with a better plan of action.

She needed to escape – obviously – the only question was how to go about liberating damaged herself.

Charging the door had been a spectacularly bad idea.

Charging it again would be an even worse idea, so Bea decided to dig in every dirty crack and musty cranny she could find in the hopes of turning up something useful. She found three spiders, and one of them, rather than fleeing the towering mammal, ran straight up her arm. This reduced Bea to a state of panicked squealing hysteria for about five minutes while she performed the ritualistic anti-spider-dance. It took her another ten minutes to work up the nerve to start looking again. She broke two fingernails and scuffed up nearly all of her knuckles in the hunt.

Another six minutes later, though, her efforts were finally rewarded with a dainty little paper clip.

Bea had never tried to pick a lock before, but she figured it was never too late to learn. She jabbed the unbent bit of wire into the little hole on the back of the doorknob, twisting it and turning it, rattling it and stabbing it.

She had no idea how long she battled with the lock, and just when she'd given up paying attention (but not quite given up trying), there was a distinct _click_. A relieved sigh of nearly concussive proportions gusted up from Bea's lungs. Carefully, she tried the knob.

It turned.

"Oh, _yes_," she whispered.

She opened the door a fraction of an inch and peered out at the madness beyond. The scientists and soldiers she had seen earlier on her trip from the play tent with Loki were still going about their mad-sciencey business, and none of them seemed to be paying particular attention to her big, solid, totally impenetrable door. A fact that played in Bea's favor. Getting across the room and out of the 'base' would be difficult to do without being spotted, though, and by difficult she really meant _abso-frickin'-lutely-impossible_.

Leaning back on her heels, Bea closed the door. Suddenly paranoid, she tried the handle, just to make sure that it hadn't automatically relocked. But it still moved under her hand, and Bea closed her eyes briefly in relief.

The only way she was getting past that many people was by pulling her favorite party trick. Last time she'd tried the results had not been very remarkable, of course, but – what was that saying? – if at first you do not succeed…

Deep breaths. She just had to take deep breaths. Deep relaxing breaths as she wandered back to her thoughts the night she'd stopped time at Tony Stark's gala.

She'd been so happy, so _relieved_, because she'd just taken on Tony Stark in a duel of sarcastic proportions and emerged unscathed. And he seemed pleased with her, which meant she would get a job. She would not be living in a cardboard box on the streets. She could eat something other than ramen again. She was so _free_.

At that point something in her head had clicked into place, and as she exalted in her forward momentum, the rest of the world froze. Hair floated mid-turn. Spit hovered mid-speech. Drinks froze mid-pour. No one blinked. Or laughed. Or breathed.

Almost immediately she'd felt a crushing migraine drop like a curtain, and she'd hurried out of the frozen room.

And then, of course, she'd thrown up. Bea didn't want to do that again. But first she had to get out of there. She'd worry about the side effects later.

Bea focused on the joy of opening the door to her private cell. She felt confidence inundate her system, and the anticipation of freedom tugged her forward.

Stopping time was an audible occurrence. All the sounds of life, movement, being - all stopped. That was how she knew she'd won. She stood up and pushed open the door to reveal a perfectly frozen diorama of a science club gone wrong. It was beautiful. No time to admire the view, though.

The headache was already starting, and Bea had a lot of ground to cover. She closed the door – and locked it (from the outside!) – before dodging around the still bodies and out of the underground bunker of evil.

She was outside and maybe half a mile away when she saw the grass start moving again and sound suddenly crashed back into her. It hit her like a sonic blast, and down she went. On all fours, she heaved up everything left in her stomach. The dry heaves which followed wracked her gut for another minute or two, and then there were no more distractions between Bea and the migraine from the pit.

It was really, really bad. Even the weak pre-dawn light around her was almost too much for her eyes to handle without imploding.

Bad as it was, though, she knew she wasn't finished yet. She needed to find a phone.

.O.O.O.

Tony had planted himself on a counter in the lab aboard the Helicarrier, one arm folded over his chest, hand tucked into the elbow of the arm supporting the phone at his ear. He should have called much earlier, true, but he had been indisposed while he was flying to Germany and getting physical with a couple Norse gods.

One ring. Two rings. He frowned and nibbled at the inside of his cheek. There wasn't really anything he could do _but _call at the moment, and he would really, REALLY appreciate it if someone would just answer the phone, put his mind at ease, and let him continue trying to save the world.

Five rings later, the voicemail recording kicked in, and Tony listened to his prerecorded Head of Design explain that she was too busy to talk at the moment. Once the beep announced that it was his turn to talk, Tony launched into the diatribe he'd been working on since Pepper had called him, explaining that a certain employee was conspicuously absent and _not answering her phone_.

"Hello, Ducky," he said in his best I'm-so-not-worried-and-I'm-gonna-fire-your-fat-butt-so-fast-the-friction-will-start-a-fire voice. "So…" he shifted a little on the counter – across the lab, Dr. Banner was giving him worried look of confusion, "I got a call this morning – well, this evening, or, never mind – from Pepper. I love getting calls from Pepper, not necessarily when I'm busy, but I can deal. Anyway, this particular phone call was to tell me that _someone_ did not come in to the previously agreed upon work-dinner-thingy, did not call in sick, and doesn't want to pick up their phone. This little call is just to tell you to check your voicemail once in a while and replace your alarm clock – because the one you have is clearly busted. If you want, I can build you a new one. It'll play the Caramelldansen, and you can come into work dancing every day. Not really. Answer your phone before I fire you. Ta ta for now."

He ended the call and gave Banner a careless shrug. "Work stuff."

"Yeah, sure." Banner looked back at the screen he was using to track the Tesseract. "Not really my business, you know."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't mind telling you about my _Ducky_ darling if you're interested," Tony said as he kicked his heels against the counter. It wasn't like he had anything better to do while he waited for JARVIS to break through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s firewall. "She's my Head of Design. Short. Has fun shoes. Likes finger painting. Oh, and her hair is going grey."

Bruce gave Tony a very longsuffering look, and Tony waved his hands, hastening to explain. "No, no, no, not like _getting older_ grey, or _lots of stress_ grey…" Bruce muttered something about working, Tony, and extreme stress, "I mean, like, twenty-odd-year-old with big hunks of silver on the skull. Freaky. And funny. She's actually good at her job, and Pepper likes her, so I tolerate her, too."

"And do you always call people you 'tolerate' to check in on them if they're late to a work function?" Banner asked.

"Uh – no." Tony changed his plan of attack. "So maybe I do more than tolerate her. Her shoes really are awesome. She decorates them herself and everyth…"

His phone rang.

He didn't recognize the number, but not many people had the number for his cell, so he decided to take a chance. At worst, he would get to terrorize a telemarketer.

"Hellooo? You have reached the famous and fabulous Mr. Tony Stark. How may I please you this evening?" He glanced out the window and realized the sun was rising. "Morning?"

"Tony."

"Speak of the devil!" Tony waved to get Banner's attention, pointing eagerly to the phone. "It's HER," he stage-whispered. Returning to the conversation, he said merrily, "I'm gonna fire you five times for making Pepper worry, you know."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Tony wasn't sure he liked how pained his Ducky's voice was. She sounded more than tired.

"I got a little bit kidnapped."

All light-hearted teasing evaporated from Tony's mind, just as the smile evaporated from his face. "What?" He jumped down from the counter and commandeered a spare computer. He tracked the call instantly and yanked up a map for visual reference. "Ducky, what happened. Tell me now and tell me all of it."

"Not time right now for all the details," Bea said, "but suffice it to say that someone who's fond of arrows broke into my apartment and put me under for a while. Woke up somewhere else. There's some guy – are you into Norse mythology? – who's kinda bent on world domination. I think you might want to look into that."

"This guy named Loki by any chance?"

"Oh, Tony, I didn't know you'd taken up fortune telling. Well done. You got it on the first guess. How did you know?"

"Been busy with him lately," Tony said, scrutinizing the map. "He caused a ruckus in Stuttgart. Got him under lock and key now, though… Ok. You're about two hundred miles from New York. You're on a payphone, right?"

"Yeah. Gas station by the highway. Not much else around here, though."

"Well, get to New York. I want you to wait for me in Stark Tower. I'll send a car for you. Someone should be there in a few hours… I've got some guys in the area. And since when do you call me Tony?"

"What? Don't like it?"

"Oh, I LOVE it, baby-girl, just not used to it yet."

"Well, DON'T get used to it. Probably just the headache talking. I kinda pulled the Party Trick to escape. I know you don't like them, but someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. might be able to get here faster."

Thrilled as he was to discover that Bea's time warp talent wasn't just a one time stunt, that was just another reason to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. at arm's length. "No way. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them right now. Just let me handle this, Bea."

"What? They already know I was kidnapped. Actually, I'm sorta surprised they didn't tell you."

Tony froze. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when I was attacked I was able to select the first person on my contacts list and make a call. AGENT Coulson – starts with an A, you know."

"Right…"

Tony glanced over to the windows overlooking the hall. It was a pack of some of his all-time favorite people. Wouldn't'cha know.

Director Fury was about to get show just _why_ people didn't intentionally withhold crucial information about his favorite duck.

**A/N: So, I'm trying to NOT just repeat all the scenes that happened in the movie, but I'm afraid that might be making things too choppy. I hope not. I'm sure you'll all tell me if you're totally lost by now. I feel like this wasn't the best chapter, but I'm kinda scattered everywhere today, so... yeah.  
**

**I have gotten a lot of pro-Loki feedback, with one notably anti-Loki review. So... I think it's definitely up to at least creepy quasi-ship level, but we'll see about the rest. I know I can't please everyone, but I want to see if the Loki support team lasts the season.  
**

**I will be trying to update more often, though this might mean shorter chapters. Please bear with me, folks.  
**

**REVIEW, MY PRETTIES!  
**

**Replies to Anons:  
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**EmmBea: Thank you verrrrrrryyyyy much! Twice!  
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**Crown of Diadem: Thank you! Wow, genius, huh? Tony Stark will not be pleased that his title has been usurped, though I suck at science/math, so...  
**

**Dakura: Thanks for the review! While I personally like Tony AND Thor a good deal, I don't think I want to ship Bea with them - primarily because I like their existing canon ships so much. I root for Pepperony. And Thane. They're just too precious together. As I said above, though, the Loki thing is still undetermined. IF there is a full-blown ship, I promise that it won't be a 'ta-da! Pretty girl likes bad guy and he is all better' thing. Loki might improve to some degree, but people don't make complete about-faces like that.  
**


	5. In Which Bea Goes Hitchhiking

**Disclaimer: Here is where I claim to not claim any rights to Marvel characters, places or storylines. Sad day. But truth has now been spoken. The end.**

Chapter 5: In Which Bea Goes Hitchhiking

Bea was seriously considering hanging up. At the other end of the line, Tony Stark was busy airing each and every piece of laundry S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever dirtied. There were a lot of angry voices that she could only just pick up on in the background, and none of them were making a whole lot of sense to poor, _uninformed_ Bea. Several times she tried to commandeer Tony's attention ("Tony – hey – yo – still here… Tooo-ony… Seriously, dude… Hellooo…"), but there were no dice. Ultimately, the pay phone was the one to end the conversation. An abrasive beeping cut off the abrasive Mr. Stark, announcing the sad truth that Bea was out of change and, therefore, out of time.

She leaned her aching head on the cool plastic privacy 'walls' (more like privacy blinders). By this point her migraine had shifted from stabbing pain to thrumming misery. Aspirin and a dark room sounded like things worth killing for, but she'd already begged change for the call from the sympathetic cashier (she didn't ask any questions after Bea stumbled in, looking like death warmed over, and declared that she needed to make an emergency call). Asking for anything else at that point was chancy – and obnoxious. Bea didn't have the energy to be obnoxious anymore, even for pain killers. Anyway, she had bigger problems.

While she agreed that Stark Tower was probably the best (or at least the most secure) place for her at the moment, she didn't think that waiting around with her finger in her ear waiting for Stark's people to arrive was in her best interests.

She had something far stupider in mind.

For the last few minutes of Stark's temper tantrum, Bea had been surreptitiously examining the three truckers who had pulled in to the station. The first had one of those curvy woman silhouette stickers on the side of his cab. No way was she going anywhere near that. That was just a ten o'clock news story waiting to happen. The second trucker looked promising. His truck was plain and he was – at the moment – buying a cup of coffee. That meant he wouldn't fall asleep on the road at least. He'd even come from the south, which meant he was heading north. New York was north, right? The third trucker had bought cigarettes. Bea didn't care all that much what the man did with his own lungs, but she really didn't want to be coughing and hacking all the way to the Big Apple. Her migraine got fractionally worse from just thinking about it.

Contestant Number Two it was, then.

Putting her plan into action before she could realize how risky it was, Bea skipped over to her chosen target and put on her most innocently charming expression.

"Hey," she said.

The trucker looked down at her – why was EVERYONE so gosh-dang tall? – and replied in kind. "Hey." He looked her over with a frown. Cast a look around the parking lot. Looked back at her. "Anything I can help you with, ma'am?"

So, being called 'ma'am' made her feel old, but Bea was so thrilled that she'd picked a guy with manners that she didn't bother to inform him of the fact that she was under twenty-five. "Actually – um – yeah. You see, I really need to get to New York City, but I have no money and no means of transportation, so I'm a little bit stuck."

"And you thought I could give you a lift."

"Uhh… yes?"

The trucker looked her over again, not in the creepy elevator-eyes kind of way that Tony liked to pull on every female in his acquaintance to make them uncomfortable, though. The guy was trying to figure her out. Trying to figure out _why_ she needed a lift to New York.

"Well, I am there," he admitted. "Specific reason you need a lift?"

Time to pull out the My-Boss-Is-Certifiably-Insane-Card. "Have you ever heard of Tony Stark?"

The trucker let loose a good long belly laugh. "Who hasn't?"

"I work for him."

The trucker laughed again.

"Need more of an explanation?"

"I guess not." The trucker finally got his chuckles under control and opened the passenger side door for Bea. "Some of Stark's gear saved one of my boys' lives when he was in the marines. Guess I owe him. I'd be doing him a favor by dropping you off up there, right?"

Bea smiled. "You betcha." With more effort than it should have taken, Bea hoisted her way up to the interior of the cab. She discovered that she did not like tall vehicles. They mocked her with their tallness.

As the man got the truck started and pulled out onto the road, he asked, "Anywhere in particular you need to get to? New York's a big place."

"Stark Tower."

"Go figure."

"I know, right?"

As much as she had decided she hated the vehicle, Bea found herself enjoying the rock and sway of the tremendous cab. Everything felt different in a car this big. And the view was sweet. She actually got to look down on everyone else and their puny little sedans. Even the SUVs looked pretty pathetic from this level.

The driver must have seen her smiling, because he suddenly said, "Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"The truck. We're so high up and in such a big metal monster, it's like driving your own fortress. Makes you feel safe."

"Hm. Yeah. I guess it does." She hesitated. "My name's Bea, by the way."

"Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie."

"Likewise."

.O.O.O.

Maybe the truck actually did make Bea feel safe. Her migraine was finally beginning to loosen its talons, and the queasiness was nothing but a memory. Peachy pink streaks were rising over the horizon, and the predawn grey had been banished in favor of the cozy yellow light of early morning.

She really was safe. Wherever Loki had swept off to with his pet archer, he had clearly met Tony (and whoever Tony's 'we' included). They had apparently not killed each other, but Tony had said that Loki was locked up somewhere. That took the main threat out of the picture, at least for the moment. For all she knew, Robin Hood was still unaccounted for, but Tony had been too busy arguing and making himself look awesome (to himself) that he hadn't listened to any potentially valuable information she could have given him. It was quite irritating. But, still…

Gradually, the bounce of the cab put Bea to sleep. It wasn't all that surprising considering how she'd spent the night.

When she woke up, the truck was stuck in a gridlock. Bea rubbed the sleepy grit from her eyes. Once her vision was clear, she sat up as straight as she could and tried to peer over the sea of cars to see what had caused the hold up. The stone in her chest was uncomfortably cold.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"No idea," said Charlie the trucker. "Folks on the radio can't make any sense of it. Apparently at least one car is flipped, though. Must've been an accident."

"Yeah," Bea frowned, trying desperately to see ahead. "Must've been." She rubbed the rock, trying to force away her anxiety.

And that was when the air snapped. For an instant, and everything was cold. And then, suddenly, standing only a few vehicles ahead, was Loki Laufeyson.

"You have got to be kidding me," Bea muttered.

What was wrong with her boss? He couldn't keep one Norse trickster god out of trouble and out of her life? Seriously? Even with backup? She really wished she had her phone. She would've given Mr. Stark the earful of the century. As it was, she had to settle for sinking her nails into the material of her chair and gnawing the inside of her cheek.

There was no doubt that Loki had seen her – that he'd _come for her_ – because he was looking directly through the windshield, practically making eye contact with her. The smile on his face was slowly growing, building like the tension in a coiled snake's body. He raised a scepter of sorts, and Bea felt her heart stutter a little bit at the sight of the glowing blue energy at its tip. That looked dangerous. More than dangerous. The gesture was a clear threat. A promise of consequences of dramatic proportions if she did not comply.

She was pretty sure she knew what had flipped those cars further up the way.

"What's this guy supposed to be?" Charlie shouted. "Where'd he come from?" The man's hands were grabbing at the wheel, the stick shift, everything that usually gave him complete control over the road.

"Um, Charlie, I think I should be getting out now."

"What are you talking about? You know that guy?"

"Yeah, I know him." Bea tried to grab at the stone in her chest. Her fingernails left shallow red scratches as they drew in around it. "I need to go."

Before Charlie could argue any more, Bea popped open the door and swung the first leg out. If she had the time she'd leave Tony's number for Charlie to call. For a split second she considered trying to pause time again. Her mind was everywhere, though. The chances of getting it to work fast enough were not in her favor, and Loki didn't strike her as the patient sort. She had no doubt that there would be a swift response to any sort of rebellion on her part. And so, with a last – somewhat-but-not-really-reassuring look at Charlie the truck driver – Bea hopped down from the ridiculously large truck.

She spotted camera phones out in a couple of the nearest cars. That was good. Maybe one or two of them would end up on Youtube within the hour. Chances were S.H.I.E.L.D. would see those at least. It was as close as Bea could get to an S.O.S. for the time being.

Loki stood waiting. When Bea landed on the pavement, he lowered his scepter and held out a hand. Bea was tempted to bite it, or at least spit in it, or hand him something random and confusing, but she was fairly sure that people would die if she did. So when she reached him, she put her hand in his. She didn't really hold onto it, but his fingers wrapped around hers in such a secure grip, Bea knew her hand would rip off before he let her slip away again.

"Smart girl," he said. He smirked at her, all condescension and superiority. "That was a wise move."

He jerked her closer, the air snapped cold again, and then they were somewhere else. Somewhere else with lots of windows. Pepper had sent Bea pictures of that view. She knew exactly where they were.

"Stark Tower."

Loki let go and stepped away, approaching the magnificent view of New York. "That is correct. How clever of you." He turned around, and his expression was a shade less friendly. "Just as clever as escaping from your room."

Now it was Bea's turn to do the walking. Careful to keep eye contact with Loki, she stepped bit by bit across the room until there was at least one couch in between herself and her captor. She was also closer to the wall now. Maybe she could slip out. Enlist the aid of JARVIS. Not while Loki was watching, though.

He smiled, at the expression was far more disturbing than his previous expression. "I'm not sure whether to be pleased with you or punish you in some way. You're not as spineless as I initially believed you to be. Well done, Miss Doe. Your patience paid off. It won you – what? – a few hours of imagined freedom?"

"It wasn't imagined," Bea said. "I did something you didn't want me to do. I was out of your control. That definitely counts as real freedom."

"Only as free, Miss Doe, as a pet…" He suddenly appeared directly in front of her, and Bea jumped back, only to find that inching towards the wall had _not_ worked in her favor. The smile had completely vanished. He pressed the stone in her chest. Instant, venomous cold flooded Bea's system. "On a leash. I will always find you. I have marked you as my own, and no sorcerer, no scientist, no healer can ever change what I have done. When you wake I will know where you have slept. When you sleep I shall walk in your dreams. Yes, Miss Doe, I see how truly free you are. Do not deceive yourself." He tilted his head, the confident grin of insanity firmly in place once again. "Accept what is, and you shall be more than content, I assure you. One day you will be the most powerful creature in the Nine Realms. The value of your life is beyond your comprehension. I take great care of that which has value."

There was tremendous power in that voice. It carried more feeling and weight than any other that Bea had ever heard, and she knew instinctively that it was dangerous. This was a voice that enchanted. That deluded. That broke spirits and wooed minds off the brink of sanity. She couldn't trust it. Any of it. Whatever truth was in Loki's words was so misshapen by his silver tongue that it wouldn't be able to recognize itself. So Bea fought back. She filled her mouth with her own words, angry words, the only ammunition she had at hand. A paltry defense, but the best she had.

"Even if everything you just said is true, I bet I'll be free when you're dead," she said. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you when you sleep, or when you're distracted." Loki reeled back an inch, clearly surprised by the fury of the little time shifter. "Actually, I won't even have to do the _honors_ myself. It won't be too long now before you are just a greasy memory of a boy king with a cardboard crown. Tony's coming. This is his tower. He'll kill you."

It didn't take Loki long to recover from his surprise. Bea, for all her spark, had never been a very intimidating person. And, unlike Tony, she didn't have a suit to make her look meaner. Laughing, Loki shook his head. "Oh, my dear, you choose your champions very poorly. I have already met him. And I have bested him. I have bested them all. While they lick their wounds and repair the damages I wrought on their ship, I will bring my army to Earth. My men are completing the array that will open the gates between the worlds atop this very building as we speak. It will open soon, and then I will truly be unstoppable."

Well, drama hadn't done much. Back to sarcasm. It was what she was best at, anyway – a defense no one had ever chipped through without her permission. "Whatever you say, Mr. Titanic."

Her words might as well have been the lyrics to a Barney song for all the impact they had on Loki. In fact, the Barney lyrics might have made a bigger impression. Loki was all business now, and Bea doubted he would have been fazed by her attack on his sink-ability even if he _had _gotten the reference. "I am afraid I might be busy for the next few hours, and since I cannot trust you not to run into the crossfire…"

Grabbing her arm in a stony grip, Loki tugged her deeper into the tower's interior, away from the brightly lit entertaining rooms and towards the windowless interior. He stopped in front of a door. When he flung it open, nothing but a plain, unused janitor's closet was revealed. The Tower hadn't been open long enough for any of the staff to settle in with their things. The likelihood of finding a stray paperclip was minimal. Maybe nonexistent.

"This will do." He pretty literally tossed her in, and by the time Bea turned around, the door was closed.

"Behave yourself, and things will go much more smoothly for us all," he said through the door.

"'Us'?" Bea shouted back. "Do you have a mouse in your pocket?"

"No," Loki answered, clearly amused, "an army, actually."

Then his footsteps retreated, and Bea was stuck in an empty janitor's closet, with nothing but her own head for company.

If Tony didn't bust her out, and bust her out _soon_, she was gonna _chew_ a hole, right through his brand new wall.

It wasn't like she had to worry about lead paint or anything. And anything was better than waiting around for Loki.

But, despite her best intentions, the nap in the truck had been short, and the room was pleasantly dark. And so it was, that, against her wishes and her better judgment, Bea Doe fell asleep in a closet while her boss and his drinking buddies did battle for the world.

**A/N: So, you all who did not review owe ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe a big hand, because when I was sad and mopey about getting THREE REVIEWS for the last chapter (even though the favorites and alerts numbers rose, thank you all), this lovely soul dropped a highly entertaining review and got my butt in gear again. So, this chapter, the award goes to ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe. Well done.**

**I hope to update again this evening (if I get at least three or four reviews by then) and then again tomorrow (same deal).  
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**I love you, but do you love me? Share the love! Leave a review!  
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**Replies to the anons:  
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**EmmBea: Thankies! Yes, my dear, you did teach me the spider dance, of which you are the undisputed master. And, yes, Loki redemption is totally plausible and canon. I concur.  
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** . : Thanks for the review! I'm kind of interested in why a couple people are pushing for Thor/OC when they haven't even met yet. Genuinely curious, not sarcastic. Maybe it just means that Thor has a tremendously large fanbase and not enough fics yet? As for Thane, I agree that it was a bit rushed in the film. While I am personally interested in the ship, I'm hoping that in Thor 2 they'll stamp on the breaks a bit and let everyone sort of catch up with themselves ("Dude, I met you, what, two days ago? One day? Whatever. I like you, but we need to SLOW THE POOP DOWN."). As for this fic - probably not much Thane. More Avengers-team, stuff, though I am considering bringing in Darcy, because I think awesomeness would happen if she was in the same room as Bea for any length of time. Thanks again for the review! Sorry that the reply was so long.  
**


	6. In Which the Avengers Play Hide'n'Seek

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. Just Bea.**

Chapter 6: In Which the Avengers Play Hide'n'Seek

Tony Stark (billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, man with a wicked-awesome automated metal prosthetic suit) was worried. The world had been saved. He'd nearly died shoving a nuke through the intergalactic rip in New York's roof, stuck the bad guy in chains, and then handed said bad guy over to the fine (if flustered) agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Immediately after that, he had gone out with the most unlikely crew he had ever teamed –up with to eat shawarma. It had been delicious, and the entire meal had been pleasantly devoid of awkward table conversation. Actually, it had been devoid of _all_ table conversation entirely.

He was not worried that the hole in the sky would tear open again and the city would be promptly irradiated. He was not worried that the bad guy would break out of the fabulous chains (and muzzle) that said bad guy's brother had brought with him from the realm eternal. He wasn't even worried about indigestion.

He was worried because, once again, he couldn't get a hold of his head of design. Bea Doe was conspicuously absent, and he didn't like it. When his people had arrived with a helicopter at the gas station Bea had called from, they had found it empty of any short brown-haired females with outstanding taste in footwear. For a while he'd dealt with the niggling worry at the back of his mind that Bea had made it to New York, but not to Stark Tower, and that she was one of the unfortunate civilians who had been massacred in the streets.

Then Nick Fury had sent a report to Natasha, and Natasha had shown the report to him.

It was a video pulled off of Youtube, starring his favorite miniscule designer… and the Norse god of mischief. At that point Tony went from dealing with niggling worry and irritation to full-blown concern. Natasha had also shared the video with Barton, who had immediately recognized Bea as "the girl with the funny hair that Loki sent me after." This, of course, meant that one Clint Barton had kidnapped one Bea Doe, which made one Tony Stark consider giving a lecture about touching his stuff (or putting Legolas off the balcony), but his genius good sense kicked in before he did anything too dramatic.

Clint knew where at least some of Loki's previous hide-outs were located. Tony asked him for MapQuest directions to each and every one of them. Turned out, though, that Barton had already divulged that information to S.H.I.E.L.D., and said covert organization had already raided each and every one of them, seeking out any further threats to humanity (or the government). They found very little, and the found no Ducky.

And so, Tony Stark (billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, man with a wicked-awesome automated metal prosthetic suit) was worried.

He wanted his little physics-defying ugly duckling, and he wanted her within glomping distance.

He hadn't told Pepper yet. He didn't have the nerve to. With her skills, Tony had no doubt that Pepper would find some way of pinning this whole fiasco on _him_, and he was actually looking forward to getting some special treatment the next few years because of the whole almost-dying-to-save-Earth thing. So, no. No telling Pepper until the situation was under control.

And by 'under control' he really meant 'Project Find a Duck' had been completed.

Then a genius thought hit him. If he was right, he swore he was going to fry and reconfigure his AI.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir? Did you want something more to drink after being thrown out the window? It seemed strenuous."

Sometimes he rued the day he had given JARVIS a sense of sarcasm. The AI pulled it off with a level of class that Tony was nearly envious of. Almost. Because no self respecting genius would admit to being jealous of his AI's sense of humor. Especially since he was the one who had programmed it.

"Uh, sounds good, JARVIS, but not now," Tony said. "Do you know if Loki brought anyone here, other than the science goons who constructed the Eiffel Tower upstairs?"

"I'm afraid I do not have access to that information, sir."

"What do you mean you don't have access? You have access to _everything_."

"Hardly, sir. But in this specific instance I was referring to the fact that no security records exist for most of Loki's visit, due to the partial loss of power when I shut-down access to the Arc reactor."

Tony frowned. He was reconsidering that drink. "So you're telling me that you've got nothin'?"

"Essentially, sir."

"Well that would make things… difficult." He took about five seconds for some serious thought. "So, can you sense anyone here now who wasn't here before?"

"Certainly, sir. There is Agent Romanoff, also known as the Black Widow, you're former employee. There is also Doctor Banner, Agent Barton, the Norse god of thunder, Thor…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know about them. I mean, specifically, do you know if Bea's here?"

"Not that I can tell, sir."

"Well, so much for that theory. About that drink…"

"I feel I must inform you, sir, that there are some areas in which I have no sensory devices."

Tony was offended. "I designed this place. There is no room that is not absolutely secure, JARVIS."

"No room, sir, but there are any number of closets, lockers, showering facilities, etc. that you intentionally left with no _intrusive_ security measures."

"Oh." Now he remembered. He'd even had a conversation with Pepper about the closets. "So, essentially, Bea could be stuck in a shower somewhere right now, and you wouldn't even know it, because you couldn't see when she arrived, and you can't see convenient holding areas now."

"That is correct, sir."

"Well, that settles it then."

It was time for a game of hide-and-seek.

He even had the perfect team assembled.

Brusquely clapping his hands, Tony interrupted every conversation currently underway in his _secondary_ party room, where the Avengers were hanging around the bar, had draped themselves over couches, or were trying to explain to Thor why the voice coming from the air was not a hidden assassin. Steve grudgingly tore his eyes away from the 'latest' episode of _I Love Lucy_, Banner stopped trying to explain to Thor about artificial intelligence, Thor stopped listening to Banner talk about artificial intelligence, Natasha looked up from the report she was filing to glare at him, and Barton set down the white Russian he'd been busy inhaling (poor sod trying to drink away the memories of mind control…).

Tony cleared his throat and said, "I have a game for us all to play."

Natasha rolled her eyes and went back to her report. Banner muttered, "Oh boy." And Thor actually looked interested.

"It's called Find-My-Head-Of-Design-Who-Loki-Kidnapped-And-Maybe-Hid-In-My-Tower."

All eyes were his again. Barton looked a little guilty. Poor sod.

"Wouldn't your, uh, _JARVIS_ know if she was in the building?" Steve asked.

"Usually, yes. Ten points, Cap. But, unfortunately, due to extenuating circumstances, JARVIS lost all security records for a little stint while he was trying to keep Loki from using my baby Arc reactor to power his machine of evil. And I don't exactly have cameras in my closets, so, for all we know – she's been chilling in the broom cupboard for the last few hours."

"You don't have cameras covering your closets?" Natasha asked.

"Uh, no," Tony said, a touch defensive. "Not in the showers and stuff, either. What? Do you?"

The little smile she gave him told him more than he ever wanted to know about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s privacy policy. "Ooookay. Anyway. Onwards and upwards… or downwards… could be any floor, really. So, the game is this: check every place that JARVIS can't. Like, now. If you find a very small angry woman with weird hair and finger painting tendencies in any of those places, you win."

"We win what?" Banner asked sarcastically. Tony didn't mind. Banner was a softie. He wasn't gonna let some poor girl rot in Tony Stark's broom cupboard forever and always.

"Uh, you win… free shawarma for a year."

"No thanks. I think I've already eaten all the shawarma I can handle for a year," Natasha said.

"Fine, then I'll give you an all-expenses-paid trip to anywhere for a week, just help me find my Ducky." He said it like a child asking for their blankie. It seemed to do the trick. Probably more because it reminded everyone that this was a _person_ they were talking about, one who might very well need a blankie when they rescued her from whatever pit of despair Loki had tossed her into.

"Fine. Let's go," Barton said, tossing a final sad glance at his drink.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "It's ok. It'll still be here when you get back. I might even join you. Well, actually, I'll _definitely_ join you. Now let's go find my Ducky."

.O.O.O.

If Bea didn't eat soon, her stomach was going to start digesting her liver. It had been a pretty long while since she'd eaten anything, and she wasn't a light eater, either, so she felt the loss keenly. The last meal she remembered was lunch the day Robin Hood crashed her apartment party.

She was _starving_.

The moment she woke up from her extended nap, she felt and heard her stomach make a rather forbidding sound. It was like a tiger and a wolf and a gorilla all rolled up together above her intestines. Her stomach then continued to squeak and grumble in an ominous fashion while Bea pondered the comparative risks of calling or not calling for whoever (or whatever) might pass by in the hall.

She never had to make a final decision on that score, because she never heard any footsteps. There were plenty of room-rattling shakes and bangs that she attributed to the inevitable battle Loki's army must face in order to claim New York, but never any close sounds. No one came near her closet.

And so she sat. And gurgled. Feeling very alone and mildly frightened. The darkness of the room, which she'd considered such a relief when she'd entered, was now a bit suffocating, and Bea really wanted out. She wanted her freedom, and she wanted her food. Maybe not in that order.

Eventually things outside settled down, and Bea prepared to face the victor – Loki or Tony, whoever had landed the killing blow.

But, whoever won, no one came.

If Loki had won, then his absence was probably a calculated move to heighten her anxiety and weaken her defiant resolve. If Tony had won, then he was just being an oblivious idiot and hadn't realized that she was there. In that case there was a real chance of starving to death.

Really, she wasn't sure which option she preferred.

It was at that point that the lock on her door clicked, and the door opened to reveal Robin Hood.  
Bea was surprised, which was surprising, because she had been listening _very_ intently for any signs of life in the corridor beyond. This guy must have been a cat in a past life. He was apparently an owl in this one, because he just stood there for a minute, blinking down at her with a vaguely stony expression.

"Oh, it's _you_," Bea said at length, mostly because she couldn't stand the silence anymore. Talking was also a good distraction. It let her thoughts fly right out of her mouth instead of slowly dragging the rest of her down into a funk. "I guess this means Loki won, then? Did you all forget about me? Please tell me that food is on the schedule, because I could seriously eat a whale. Like, beluga-sized, because I really am hungry, but I don't think I could stomach a bowhead or anything like that…"

"Loki didn't win."

"Pardon?" Her voice did _not_ tremble. It just wavered a little bit.

"Loki didn't win," Robin Hood repeated. "We did."

Then it struck her. "Your _eyes_. Your eyes are normal." His expression shifted in a very strange way, and Bea rushed on. "Not that you're eyes aren't pretty or anything, because they totally are, but they aren't, you know, _off_. They don't have that weird glow anymore. They don't look like ice."

"Loki had me under his control," Robin Hood said.

"Well, no offense, but how did you get out from under his thumb, if you don't mind my asking?"

Really, she could tell that he wasn't all brain-washy or anything anymore, because if he was, he would've grabbed her and dragged her to wherever he was supposed to take her by this point. Instead he was standing there in the doorway talking with her. It was a nice change of pace.

"Got hit really hard on the head," he said.

"Oh, well, whatever works."

"Right." He shifted his weight to his other foot, and Bea suddenly realized that he was uncomfortable. "So you're Bea Doe?"

"Yes?" Bea said slowly.

"Well, I," he stopped to think for a minute. "I guess I'm glad to meet you."

Bea smiled up at him and offered her hand. He shook it just as awkwardly as he stood. "Ditto."

Her relaxed attitude seemed to help put him at ease as well, and he offered the barest grimace of a smile. "So you're alright? Loki didn't hurt you while you were with him? I can see he didn't, uh…" He pointed to his eyes.

"No, I'm fine," Bea assured him. "In every sense. Except that I'm really, _really_ hungry."

"Right, well, this way." This time he offered his hand, and Bea gladly let him hoist her to her feet.

As they walked through the fashionably expensive corridors of Stark Tower, Robin Hood tapped the comm. in his ear and said, "Found her. She was in a janitor's closet… She's fine. Hungry, though. I don't think she's eaten since… Right. Meet you there."

As soon as he'd finished, Bea said awkwardly, "So, it just dawned on me that I don't know your name. Well, maybe I remember… Loki mentioned it once… Does it start with a 'B'?"

"Barton," Robin Hood said. "Clint Barton."

"Right, well, nice to be officially introduced, Mr. Barton."

"Agent, actually."

"Oh, sorry."

"Not a problem."

An awkward silence followed.

"After, uh, everything, it doesn't really matter what you call me."

Bea felt a stabbing gut-wrench of pity. This guy was an agent. Probably with S.H.I.E.L.D. Getting your head taken for a spin by a mischievous Norse god sounded bad enough, but for an agent, someone so confident in their abilities, it must be even worse. To have his skills hijacked and used against his friends and allies was the stuff of nightmares.

"It wasn't your fault," she said quickly. He gave a fairly disbelieving look. "And you can call me Bea, if that makes a difference."

He smiled at her a little bit. It wasn't really a grimace this time, either. He was clearly vulnerable, and he seemed grateful that Bea hadn't gone on the offensive against him.

And then they were in a big bright room with windows, and a group of very unique individuals was waiting.

Standing (hiding) behind the bar was one Tony Stark.

"Tony Stark," Bea declared, panting her fists on her hips. "We need to talk. While I eat. Is there any food in this tower?"

**A/N: Hey again! So, I kept my word. Two updates in one day! If you're all really lovely and keep the reviews coming, you might get another one tomorrow. So, just so you know, I wrote this entire thing today, so if you find errors... blame that. **

**PLEASE REVIEW!  
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**No anon reviews for this chapter! Ya'll got beat out by the account holders. Need to up your game.  
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	7. In Which Bea Blubbers

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. I'd tell you to get over it, but I can't, so that would be hypocritical.**

Chapter 7: In Which Bea Blubbers

Before there was food there was glomping. Once he was assured that Bea had no intention of going for his kidneys, Tony had come strolling out from behind the bar, making snarky comments about _what_ exactly she was doing in his broom closet for hours on end. And then he blindsided her. With a glomp. Bea found herself immediately and completely pinned by her over-enthusiastic employer.

"My Ducky," he muttered.

"Breathing, Tony," she wheezed. "It's a good thing."

"Right." He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her out at arm's distance, scrutinizing her intently for any bruising, bleeding or ruffling that might translate as _harm_. "Well… you _seem_ ok." Like all interactions with Tony Stark, this one left Bea wondering how much of his showiness was for his own benefit, how much was for her, and how much was for the rest of the audience.

She decided she wanted food too badly to care at that point. "Ok and hungry," she agreed. She had no intention of showing off her new permanent jewelry to her boss. No way. If that glomp was anything to go by, he'd go ballistic. And she really wanted food before she cruised into the perilous waters of the drama lagoon.

_Agent_ Barton was looking at her sideways, an 'Are you going to tell them or am I?' sort of look. Bea scowled and gave her head a quick shake. He shrugged. Clearly, he was going to just leave the ball in her court. That earned the man about two thousand brownie points in Bea's book.

Then she realized that her whole little interaction with Robin Hood was being studied by a red head in a cat suit. Bea wasn't sure she liked the level of analysis being brought to bear on her silent conversation.

Tugging on Tony's sleeve, she cleared her throat and asked, "Who are your friends? I've met Agent Barton, clearly…"

"And me," Tony said.

"Yes, Captain Obvious, I've met you, too."

"Captain! That's a good place to start." Tony released her with one hand so he could point around the room. The other arm dropped on her shoulders in a friendly possessive fashion. Bea actually didn't mind it at all. It was nice to have some purely platonic (and safe) contact.

"That guy," Tony prattled, pointing to a guy with funny pants and chiseled _everything_, "is Steve Rogers, also known as _Captain_ America."

"Captain America?" Bea asked. She squinted at the awkward blonde, clearly incredulous. "I think I read about you in high school."

The awkward blonde shuffled up and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"You, too."

"Moving on." Tony literally tugged her along to the next stranger, intent on making them less of a, well, stranger. It just so happened that the next person in line was the inquisitive red head. Bea smiled bravely, but the red head's expression didn't even flicker. Aw, crap. "This is Agent Natasha Romanoff. She kills people for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Oh." Bea's voice squeaked. Still squeaking, she shook the woman's hand and said, "Nice to meet you."

Agent Natasha Romanoff did not respond apart from a nod. She did hold the handshake a bit long, though, and she looked into Bea's face way too intently.

_I'm so not hiding anything. Seriously. Anything at all. You can do a background check if you want,_ Bea thought. It was a lie, of course, and an unconvincing one at that. Which was why she kept it to herself.

"Next is my new best friend and brother in geek-dom, Doctor Bruce Banner, who turns into a cranky version of the Jolly Green Giant when he throws a temper tantrum."

"Hi." Relieved to have escaped scrutiny for the moment, Bea offered Doctor Banner a one hundred watt smile. Then she frowned and looked at Tony. "I thought _I_ was your best friend? I get kidnapped for day or two and you replace me? Yeesh."

Tony gave her a quick squeeze. "No one could ever _replace_ my Ducky, but the position of 'best friend' is assigned on a rotational basis, and might include Pepper, you, Bruce, Happy, or the pizza delivery kid, depending entirely on my whims and the daily forecast."

"Whatever." She shook Doctor Banner's hand. "It's nice to meet you. Glad to have someone to reminisce with about a certain Stark's particular brand of crazy."

"Says the girl who still likes to finger paint."

"Says the genius who's too stupid to install cameras in the janitorial closets."

"Touché."

"Quite. Moving on?"

They stopped in front of the last soon-to-not-be-stranger. He was decked out in armor befitting a Renaissance fair. He was _huge_, his long pretty hair needed washing, and his face was set in a definite frown. Bea was pretty sure she was frowning, too. His fashion choices were too close to Loki's for her to feel remotely comfortable. Instant awkwardness abounded. Just when Tony opened his mouth to make the introductions, however, there came a knock at the door, and some brave employee wheeled in a catering trolley.

Tony Stark was many things, but stingy wasn't one of them. There was enough food to feed the whole team, even though the rest of them had already eaten. There was also tea, which Bea immediately poured into a cup… which she proceeded to cuddle. She was always just a little cold since Loki had… but she would sort that out later.

Tony must have asked Pepper for advice or something, because the trolley had all her favorite dishes. Chinese food, pizza, carrot sticks, fruit, and – most importantly – an entire tub of fudge brownie ice cream. It took a lot of self control to not just grab the ice cream and dig in, but Bea managed to at least sample the other offerings before plucking her precious from the counter of the bar and curling up on the couch. As soon as she had plopped herself down on the middle cushion and gotten all comfortable, she realized she had forgotten a spoon. This meant that she would have to get up again. However, just as she was about to set down her treat and march back to the counter, a spoon miraculously appeared in her field of vision. Holding it was one Agent Barton.

Bea grinned. "Thanks."

"No problem."

She might just make friends with her kidnapper after all. It wasn't like he was the real kidnapper anyway.

Bad train of thought.

Back to the ice cream.

It was delicious. Even if it was cold.

Another bad train of thought.

Well, crap on a cracker, was there _anything_ relevant to the current situation that didn't lead to unpleasant memories?

…Apparently not.

Oh, well.

The ice cream really was delicious.

A sinking sensation to Bea's right alerted her to the fact that someone had joined her on the couch. She peeked sideways from the corner of her eye. It was Conan the Barbarian.

"I'm afraid our introduction was interrupted," he said carefully. It was like he was worried about startling her. His intonation was suspiciously close to how someone would say 'Do you know you have a spider on your head?'. Bea ran a hand through her hair, just in case.

Then she swallowed her bite of ice cream and had to answer. "You're right. Sorry. Really hungry. I'm sure you've gathered by now, but I'm Bea."

"Of course. I am Thor Odinson, prince of Asgard."

Another Norse god. And that would explain the parallel fashion tastes.

Bea held her hand out for a shake, and was promptly knocked back off-kilter when, instead of shaking it, the Norse god brought it to his lips and gave it a whiskery little kiss. For a second she was thunderstruck. Then she burst out laughing. Thor seemed a little surprised by this, but his anxious expression soon melted into a warm smile. His blue eyes went all twinkly, and Bea finally managed to divorce her concept of him from the shadowy threat of Loki.

His beard was tickly.

That was brilliant.

"I am sorry," he said, still all happy and beaming. "I forget that such manners are no longer common in this realm."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Sure-fire way to break the ice if nothing else." Bea scooped some more ice cream into her maw and gave him a close-lipped smile.

"Lady Bea…"

Bea swallowed rapidly. "Just Bea."

Thor nodded and tried again. "Bea. Are you… It is merely that… your hair, and Loki's interest… might you…" That lovely happy expression was sinking as he struggled with his words. Bea felt her own giddy amusement dying, too. She could see where this conversation was going.

"If you're trying to tell me that I'm supposed to be some sort of Chrono-whatsit then don't bother. Loki already went there."

"Then… you are?"

"I don't think so. He does, though."

Tony interrupted. "He said you're a what now?"

"An alien," Bea supplied.

"Oh, well," Tony shrugged, "that's not so bad."

Bea shrugged too. "I don't buy it."

"You do alter time, honey. I think we need to look at this objectively."

Thor, who had been watching the volley of comments like he was at a tennis match, chose that moment to interject. "Are you in earnest?"

"Always."

"Never."

Thor was not to be dissuaded from his course of questioning. "You have altered time?"

"She has." And so Agent Red Head joined the conversation. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has had a file on her for a while."

"A file." Bea twisted around to look over the back of the couch and at Agent Red. "I have a file?"

She nodded.

Bea looked morosely at her tub of frozen wonder. "I don't think this is gonna be enough ice cream."

"If you have influenced the passage of time, Bea," Thor said, back in his cautious voice, "then there is no doubt that you are one of the Chronos."

"I have plenty of doubts, thank you. Can I just eat my ice cream, people? Please? I have just ended a very long stretch of captivity in a closet, before which I was stabbed, kidnapped, threatened, and kidnapped again. Personally, I think I've taken it all pretty well, but I swear, if you all don't let me unwind and eat my comfort food in peace, I will stop time, run away, and find a nice quiet corner somewhere to blubber like a baby."

That shut everyone up pretty effectively.

Then the stone in Bea's chest sent out a flash of extreme cold, sending her bouncing up in the air with a yelp. Without thinking, she grabbed at the spot.

And so Bea blew her chance to recover before revealing the blue mood stone in her chest.

Because he was closest, Thor was the one to settle her down on the couch and inquire after her well being. Agent Barton was the one to pull her hand away from her chest and tug the collar of her shirt down a couple inches. Steve was the one who gasped like a girl. Agent Romanoff was the one who had to re-holster her gun, and Doctor Banner was the one who immediately began prodding the area in a clinical fashion.

"What. Is. That." And Tony was the one who looked ready to go kill a few thousand people.

Bea – who had done such a good job holding herself together – finally lost it and started crying. "I don't know!" She was half yelling, half sobbing. "He just _stuck it in my chest_, and he says he'll always be able to find me, and I can't get it out."

"How does that not classify as _harm? _Thor." Tony, still in stiff assassin mode, looked pointedly at the Norse god of thunder. "What did your brother do to my Ducky?"

Thor was Loki's brother? Bea failed to see the resemblance.

Tentatively, Thor brushed a finger over the stone. "This is magic. I am afraid that I have nothing near my brother's mastery of it, but… I don't believe it can be removed. Not here. Not on Midgard."

Bea wailed.

"We need to report this to Director Fury," Agent Romanoff said.

"Get that thing out of Bea," Tony ordered. "Bruce?"

"I would if I could, but I don't even know what this thing _is_," the good doctor said. "It could be imbedded in a bone, or carry some sort of electrical charge, or even radiation. I just don't _know_."

There was too much going on. Everyone was shouting, questioning, ordering. Every fear that Bea had tried to repress was being bounced around in the air around her through their words, and it was all just _too much_. She needed to cry. She needed to hide somewhere that felt safe. She needed to pretend for just a few hours that the stupid rock just didn't exist.

And that was when Steve Rogers forever ingratiated himself to her.

"Everyone." He spoke with authority, and, amazingly, everyone acknowledged that authority and stopped panicking long enough to pay attention. "I don't think any of this is helping Miss Doe." Everyone's eyes swooped down on her couch-prone form. While she couldn't tell for certain, Bea assumed that she looked like a mess. She certainly felt like one. "What she needs is someplace quiet where she can calm down and relax. We can update Fury and handle what needs to be handled. There will be time to examine that… whatever it is later."

Tony was the first to nod. "Right. I've got lots of guest rooms. Bea, my dear? Let's find you a place."

Lips trembling, eyes watering, Bea nodded, and Tony helped her off the couch and out of the room.

He found her a place just down the hall. It was dark enough to sleep in, and the bed looked absolutely amazing. Promising to come back for her later, Tony stepped back into the hallway and closed the door.

Bea was asleep in minutes, exhausted by her crying, and weighed down by her meal.

Every dream she had was green.

**A/N: Short, but here. This was a bit of a struggle to write, and I'm gonna give myself a little more time for the next few chapters, but we're preparing to launch into original territory, so get excited (and review). I'm more than a little frustrated with the writing style of the story right now, because it feels really blocky, so I'm gonna try to improve that in future chapters. Bea will still be random and abrupt, but hopefully I can weave some more colorful and varied sentences around her off-the-wall thinking patterns.**

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**Ducks: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like it. Well, there's lots of 'Ducky' references in this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks again!  
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	8. In Which Cookies and Friends are Made

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Avengers. Do own my OC. Same old, same old.**

**SONG! So, there's actually a song that goes with part of this chapter. While I was writing the last section, the dream, I was listening to Nightwish's song "Slow, Love, Slow." I strongly recommend it. Good song right, there. And the mood fits pretty stupendously.  
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Chapter 8: In Which Cookies and Friends are Made

The first sign that Bea was feeling better, at least that she noticed, was that she was paying attention to the wisps of _have-beens_ and _might-bes_ again. While she had been so concerned with people's immediate actions, she hadn't paid them much mind, but as things quieted down she found that she enjoyed watching the little fragments that came in and out of focus around her strange house-mates. Tony wasn't really surprising anymore. She knew him too well. The assassins were both fascinating, though. Dark, torn, but interesting. Very colorful. Every time Bea saw a flash of gamma green in the smoky remnants on Banner, she felt like she'd caught the poor guy with his pants down or something, and swiftly looked away. She learned that Steve needed a hug and then some lengthy lessons about social skills. He was such a dweeb that it was downright endearing.

Thor made no sense to her. There was little familiar context in which she could place his past adventures, and the little flashes she saw of them were about as helpful as a box full of random puzzle pieces – each piece scavenged from a different puzzle.

It wasn't like she could make a coherent picture out of any of the wisps and shadows she saw, but they were all so random that they did, in a way, serve as a minute scattershot version of a person's life. Nine out of ten times, these weren't the bits the objects of her attention would choose to share, would even _think_ about sharing. Not because they were necessarily bad or embarrassing, just… unimportant.

Made for good daytime television, though. Bea would take her special brand of people watching over soaps any day of the week.

It was a good thing that she enjoyed people watching, because that was really all she did –watched. Well, Tony seemed bent on proving to himself that his Ducky had indeed returned (and kept randomly hugging, patting, or poking her just to be sure) so there was some attention there, but the rest of the crew clearly had no friggin' clue what to do with her. She was… Stark's. She was valuable enough to be kidnapped, but not pragmatically useful because she didn't have any real control over the bit that made her, well, useful. Nine out of ten times she could deposit herself quietly in a corner and everyone would just forget about her, but every now and again they did remember, and it was _awkward_. They had all saved each other's lives by this point. Special kind of bonding time, that. Bea? Not so much. She was the surprise in the bottom of the cereal box, or the broom closet, as it were. For twenty-six hours, Bea just put up with it. Then Pepper arrived and Bea's one source of 'normal' conversation and contact trotted off like a love-sick puppy to help 'redesign this puppy'. Sure, Tony. Sure.

That was about the time Bea started cooking. She made chocolate chip cookies first, and Steve started looking at her in a whole new light. Bea resisted the urge to ask if he believed she had found her calling in life – _in the kitchen. _Dr. Banner grudgingly began acknowledging her existence in a shy if-I-get-mad-I-literally-kill-people kind of way. Thor (who was a _huge_ guy, seriously, gianormous) swore that they were even better than Poptarts, and Agent Romanoff wouldn't eat them. So Bea looked up healthy people desserts, and presented her with a personal _kettle_ of fruit salad. It had everything from mangoes to grapes to raspberries in it, and Bea actually included a star fruit garnish. Regardless of whether or not she even liked fruit salad, Agent Romanoff defrosted a bit and started treating Bea as a marginal acquaintance rather than a marginal pest. Bea was pretty sure this was due mostly to the fact that she was _trying_ so bloomin' hard to get on her good side. And she could really rock the puppy dog eyes.

When he returned from his planning with Pepper, Tony very unhappily exclaimed that, "You never made cookies for _me_! And I'm your boss!"

"Yeah, because you're my boss, and I feel like I'm the one doing you the favor when I have to deal with you at work. Clearly you do, too, because you pay me." Good as Bea was at the kicked puppy look, Tony actually looked remotely _like_ a puppy with his big warm eyes and his furry face, so when he pulled out the big guns it was heart wrenching. Bea was able to stand all of five minutes filled with sideways glances and sad little whimpers before she relented. "They're baked now, so I guess you can have some of the leftovers."

The sad puppy returned to his usual bouncily obnoxious self.

Clint, it seemed, had been waiting for his partner's silent permission before developing any further relationship with Miss Doe. Once he'd been cleared, though, that was the beginning of a long and interesting friendship. It started off deceptively simple. When the boys played video games that evening (poor Steve, so lost), Clint made sure Bea had a chance at getting her butt handed to her. Which she did. That night, when Bea finally checked her email (inbox=flooded), there was a note from Robin Hood, featuring a long list of suggested pranks. _I need a partner for this_, he wrote at the end, _I doubt Natasha would approve. Interested?_

Surprises, surprises. And of course she was interested. Tony's name was at the top of the list of targets.

Life for the next day or two was less awkward, and because Pepper was there, life actually ran smoothly for once. Tony (somewhat gracelessly) filled her in on Bea's story, and the woman immediately began muttering about PTSD and asking Bea fifty million times if she needed anything, needed anyone to _talk_ to. Bea informed her (about as gracelessly as Tony) that she would rather _not_ talk about it at all. This made Clint smirk conspiratorially and caused Tony to wince. Ah, what a lovely messed-up lot they were.

As interesting of a crew as they made, responsibilities dictated that they break up the group sooner rather than later.

And, sure enough, it was soon time for the Princes Abroad to end their trip and go home. Bea was grateful. As much as she liked Thor and his brawny form of concern, she wanted Loki on the other side of the universe. Despite all of the trickster god's big talk, Bea didn't really believe that the little good luck charm he'd stuck in her chest would be all that effective with so many millions of light years in between them. Or she hoped, at least.

Her dreams were strange, and she had little doubt that Loki was somehow behind them. Green eyes peered out of blue mists. Jade snakes curled and twisted into endless patterns of golden knots and shapes. Sometimes there was a figure, always faceless, and Bea knew what master of magic was sending her such strange visions.

The morning the two brothers were to depart, Thor took Bea aside to offer his sincerest apologies for his brother (again) and invite her to Asgard once the Bifrost had been repaired.

"There are many in this realm who I wish to introduce to my own," he said, "but I am not certain how long it will take to earn my father's approval. His opinions of the human race are… complicated."

Explained where Loki got it, then.

"You, on the other hand, are Chronos. I have no doubt of your reception. There are some among my people who knew the Chronos before they were destroyed. The information they possess may prove invaluable to you."

Bea felt her head listing to the side. Despite the display of quizzical indifference, her gut was set as steel. She'd known her answer long before this interview was scheduled. "But just because it would be beneficial for me doesn't necessarily mean that your father will think that it's beneficial for him."

"On the contrary, only a fool would not seek an alliance with you, La… Bea. And my father is no fool."

"Because one day in the very distant future I'm gonna be a butt-whooping goddess of time."

"Essentially."

She was shaking her head before he'd finished the last syllable. "I still don't buy it."

"It matters not. And a century is not so long to the Aesir," Thor said. "It may seem long to you, with your human conception of time, but it will pass more swiftly than you could anticipate. In that span of time you will change, and it would be best for all if you knew how to harness and control such changes."

"New definition of time bomb, eh?"

"It is no jesting matter, Bea."

"Oh, trust me, I'm not jesting."

Thor opened his mouth to say something, closed it. Closed his eyes. Took a breath. Opened his eyes again. And then his mouth. "I will see to it that you are informed when the bridge is once again opened. Until then, I ask that you carefully consider the offer."

Bea smirked. "I promise. I will think about it."

"Good." Thor smiled before adopting a faux frown. "Honestly, Lady Bea, you make it sound as if a visit to my _home_ would be unpleasant. It is quite beautiful, I assure you."

"Oh, I'm sure it lives up to everything a divinely princely palace should be," Bea assured him, laughing. "I just think that if Pepper has to go somewhere while I'm gone, Tony will implode. He needs his support team."

"The Man of Iron needs many things, my lady," Thor said. One of those little tilted grins was on his face.

A-dor-able. Seriously.

Fully aware of the impact his smile had on women in general, Thor's grin broadened into a fully dazzling smile, and gave the back of Bea's hand a quick kiss.

"It has been an honor to meet you, Bea Doe. And not merely for an mercenary political purposes I am sure you imagine. The Man of Iron is lucky to have so loyal and… unique… a friend."

"Thank you. And your father is lucky to have such a tall son."

Thor chuckled.

"Now I think it's about time that you went to escort your brother home, isn't it?"

"Yes." Thor grunted and shoved himself up off the couch. "I trust you will be present?"

"Yeah. Tony wants me there so I can offer Bruce more cookies, you know, just in case he gets anymore noble urges to live as a lonely hermit or whatever. I believe there is quite a week at Tony's Malibu house planned."

"I am sorry that I shall miss it."

"Oh," Bea patted his shoulder as she passed by on the way to the door, "I'm sure you'll get quite the welcome party back home."

"But of course!"

Things would be quieter, Bea reasoned, once the thunder god was gone, but she would miss his quick smile and his quick temper. It kept everyone on their toes in a good way… well, usually a good way.

She might need some more ice cream that evening.

.O.O.O.

It was easy to forget how bright the sun was after several days indoors. It was downright blinding. The glow came not only from above, but from every pale surface it struck. The effect was like being trapped in the middle of a light bulb. She should have asked Tony for a pair of sunglasses. He looked quite comfortable in his.

All of the Avengers – sans Thor – were gathered in Central Park, in area that had, blessedly, escaped most of the damage from the Chitauri attack days before. Most of Manhattan had not. Many areas literally looked like the warzone they had been. Other areas appeared normal – except for the random scorch marks, or the broken glass glittering in the street. True to form, New York had bounced back with remarkable enthusiasm. Memorials to the lost and little shrines of thanks to the Avengers had sprung up in several of the most heavily damaged districts. They were overflowing with flowers, notes, candles, pictures – the works. Like the owner of the city's tallest building, the citizens of the city were not stingy.

There was still a healthy amount of fear in the eyes of every casual bystander as Loki, Prince of Asgard, would-be-king of Earth, was escorted by his brother, the god of thunder, to face punishment in Asgard. To be fair, there were plenty of glares, but the fear driving those glares, and the hidden sideways glances of terror, had a definite presence. It was… chilling. Very fitting, considering the cool stone in Bea's chest.

At least the mischievous god was wearing a muzzle. The muzzle made Bea even happier than the chains did. He had that coming. Heck, he'd probably had that coming for a few centuries. It was especially nice that he couldn't speak, seeing as how Bea was watching the _have-beens_ and _might-bes_ swirling around him so intently. A few were very bright, and those were usually very old, wisps of a past half-buried, featuring a young blond boy with twinkling eyes and a ready smile. Thor's temper, Bea noted as she watched, seemed to have been even quicker in the past. But there was so much more than that. She saw pain, a burning blue miasma of terror and despair, and from that emerged the pale-eyed demon who had twisted Agent Barton's mind with ice. Those flashes, clear, recent, were an obvious marker of the exact place where Loki turned from an Asgardian into a homeless tyrant. There was one moment, a threat, that stood out particularly well. A threat of something beyond pain… should he fail.

Suddenly Bea wondered just how effective those restraints really were. If she were Loki, she'd be fleeing to the strongest world in her repertoire of escapes as well. Death would indeed be preferable to some of the shadows Bea saw in Loki's recent history.

For a very long moment, his eyes locked with hers and Bea realized something. His eyes were not so pale and grey as they had been before. A light green had begun to grow there, and Bea wondered what color they had been before the tortures she saw behind him.

Maybe one day she would ask Thor. She had no intention of being around Loki when that muzzle was removed.

As the two princes neared, Tony draped his arm over Bea's shoulders in show of possessive affection. Bea quirked an eyebrow at her boss. He met the look and raised _both_ eyebrows. Anything she could do, he could do… double. Staggeringly childish, but unquestionably cute as well.

The Tesseract was handed over and deposited in the odd two-handled contraption that Thor had (apparently) brought with him from Asgard. He clasped one grip, and held the other out to his brother, demanding his compliance. Grudgingly, Loki took it, and both brothers went shooting away in blue flaming energy.

And that was that.

On the ride to Malibu, Tony made Bea ride in the back seat.

She was not amused.

He was.

She refused to make any more cookies for a week.

.O.O.O.

The water sat like a flat crystal tear in the bowl of green moss, which spread thickly, like shag carpet, over grey stones. Beyond that, there was nothing. Mist maybe, but nothing worth noting. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. The misty nether of emptiness curled up and around the little haven. The moss was plush and springy under Bea's palms, and she luxuriated in the feel of it as she bent over the water.

The face looking back at her was only a little older, but the hair was white as milk, and the eyes had gone a pale yellow. Unnatural. Grotesque. Bea had hated it when her hair had begun to turn patchy grey. Was this what she had to look forward to?

A series of ripples sent her image dancing in long slow rolls, and Bea looked across the water to find another reflection there. Raven hair. Snowy skin. Emerald eyes. Fingers disappeared into the water just below the figure's chin. Bea let her eyes follow the natural line of wrist, arm, shoulder and neck up to the face that had cast the colorful shadow on the water.

"Did I disturb you?" he asked.

"No," Bea said. "Not any more than usual, Loki."

"Ah." Loki flicked his fingers in the water, sending out a storm of ripples and several droplets, which spread out even more distorting ripples upon landing, ripples that crossed and marred the little waves he had stirred up. One droplet landed on the back of Bea's hand. She watched it, transfixed, as the crystalline droplet rolled across her skin and slid off the crown of her knuckle. The moss drank it in greedily. "Shall I try harder?"

"You didn't weave this place to disturb me," said Bea. "It's too peaceful."

Loki raised his eyebrows. "Don't be so quick to judge. Many of the most peaceful places in the universe are also the most disturbing. At least, in my own experience, of course…" He looked off into the lazy swirls of the mist he had wreathed around the little dreamscape. "You do not argue so much as you used to. I remember when I first showed my face in the dreams I wove for you, you woke yourself with your tirade."

"Well, no offense, but your face isn't quite so shocking after a whole year."

"A year?" Loki's eyebrows climbed towards his dark hair. "Has it truly been that long since I made your acquaintance? I apologize. You must understand, it is difficult to tell time when one is incarcerated. And my face is not shocking."

"I beg to differ. So would most of New York."

Rolling his eyes, Loki asked, "Are you _still_ going on about that, after an entire _year_?"

"Some of the damage still isn't repaired, and I have to pass by it on the way to work every morning, so, yeah, still going on about that."

The snake eyes came out. "If I was ruler of your world, the damage would have been repaired long ago."

"Not after you'd caused a whole lot more, I'm sure."

"As am I."

Bea pointed at him, jabbing her finger towards his face like a javelin. "There, you see? That's why we're not friends. Right there."

Loki actually rolled his eyes and went back to observing whatever was going on in their misty surroundings.

Over the past year, Bea had learned much about the Asgardian prince. She wasn't necessarily happy about that, but the fact remained that she was actually _familiar_ with him now. When he was on the verge of flying into a rage, she could read it in the shape of his spine. When he was being honest, she could see it in his eyes. Usually he lied, in one way or another, but sometimes there was a straightforward inquiry or answer that left Bea floored, because it _wasn't_ a lie. Or a show. Or pretense. Those didn't happen very often. Besides, Loki was still very fond of grandstanding. A year of dreams and conversations from halfway across the universe seemed to have thawed the man of ice out a little, though.

His dream self had no wisps of _have-beens_ or _might-bes_ clinging to him, and that was irritating. For a solid month, he had kept Bea guessing what his punishment had been. All Bea had managed to gather was that he was restrained somewhere. That was enough for her, and she quit the game, much to Loki's displeasure. Wherever he was, it must be incredibly boring, because he often intruded on her sleeping hours, spinning fancies of confusion or contentment for his pet time traveler to stumble through. On good days she woke better than refreshed. On bad days she thought she'd be better rested if she hadn't gone to sleep at all.

She hadn't told anyone in her waking life. They would worry (and they probably should), but there was nothing for them to do about it. Doctor Banner, along with every medic in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s acquaintance, had tried to pry the stone from her chest. The efforts had helped her lose nothing but blood.

"I will be seeing you soon."

Bea snorted. "Yeah, probably tomorrow night."

"True, but that is not what I meant." Loki waited until Bea had made eye contact with him, rewarding her with a downright predatory smile. "Soon you shall stand before me in the _flesh. _My brother came to visit me in my chains. He said you will be travelling shortly to Asgard – the first guest to arrive by the new bridge. He is most eager, and he sought my knowledge concerning who among the Aesir is well versed in the history and mannerisms of the Chronos. The fool. He will gather your enemies for you, so that they may plot your death."

Bea tried not to show how disappointed she was that Loki knew of her imminent arrival. She also tried not to show that his warnings were rattling her. It had taken pretty much the full year since Thor and Loki left for her to change her mind. The process was slow and primarily fueled by long migraines and a devout reverence to the porcelain god of the bathroom. _Everyone_ wanted her to control her 'party talent,' including Tony, so she had actively practiced, and was now moderately good at it. The whole thing was sort of a one-round-wonder, and after that she was worse than useless, but, still… at least she was useful for a little while. But if there was a way to develop her special talent without blinding headaches and nausea, well, she wanted to know how. That was why she took Thor up on his offer. That and a whole year of everyone trying to _figure her out_. Sometimes Bea thought she had more answers than the scientists who tried to riddle out her physiology. It would be a nice change to just be handed the answers by people who knew what they were talking about for once. As an added bonus, maybe someone could dig the stupid rock out of her chest, and then she wouldn't have to deal with Loki in her head every night. "Well, you're all tied-up, so…"

"I would never kill the last Chronos," Loki scoffed. "But those who killed your elders will certainly not hesitate to nip such a superlative threat in the bud. Be warned, Bea Doe. Not all who will welcome you will be friends. Now, wake up, and prepare to come to me."

The water rose from the pond and swallowed her. It dragged her down past all light, and just when she thought she would drown, Bea sat straight up in bed, sweat gluing her hair to her face.

She yanked the covers aside and trotted through her apartment to the bathroom. There, she splashed icy water on her face until she was fully conscious. If she fell back asleep now, Loki would just play games with her head, and then she'd have to face the morning with all the gusto of a gas station attendant. She had a good job, good friends – they deserved more from her… who needed more than five hours of sleep?

She wasn't pleased with how well-informed Loki was, though.

It was true. She was going to travel via the newly constructed Bifrost to Asgard in a matter of days. Tony didn't approve. Clint didn't approve. Steve didn't approve. Bruce gave his grudging agreement that if he couldn't fix her, she should go to people who could. Agent Romanoff had been teaching her S.H.I.E.L.D. flash memorization techniques for the last month. Bea had no intention of really trying any of them (she was a dang useful little time-stopper, and she definitely played for the good guys, so, really, what could S.H.I.E.L.D. do to her?).

Closing her eyes, Bea leaned forward, palms on the edge of the sink.

Three days. Three days before she got yanked beyond the known universe by a sparkly bridge.

Where Thor was waiting. Where Loki was waiting. Where unknown assassins might be out for her blood.

Crap on a cracker.

**A/N: Good news! Contrary to popular belief, I'm not dead! In the past week, however, I have picked up two (count 'em, TWO) jobs. This means that I will be/have been a bit busier than when I started this fic. Updates will appear at least once a week, though, so PLEASE KEEP THE REVIEWS COMING. They are more motivating that you will ever know... unless you also write fanfic, in which case you DO know.**

**I have had several people ask me what the zombie thing in the first chapter was about - this is a 'my bad' because I should have explained things better. It's a game called Humans Vs. Zombies - basically the most epic game of tag you will EVER play, and it typically takes place on college campuses, because that's where the fun people with free time live.  
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**PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

**No anonymous reviews AGAIN. Sad day. I miss you, my pretties. Did Loki kill you in his attack on New York?  
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	9. In Which Bea Meets the Sassy Pirate

**Disclaimer: Does not own Marvel. Derpaderp.**

Chapter 9: In Which Bea Meets the Sassy Pirate

His was a name used to open doors – super-secret adamantium doors built three yards thick three miles underground. Of course, in order to use his name, one had to know it, and the person it was being used on had to know it, too, or else it was absolutely useless. That's why it was only really useful for the big secret doors. It was useless at movie theaters. Tell the staff that Nick Fury had personally authorized entrance, and, well, you'd get a lot of blank looks.

Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the ultimate spy. He was the greatest legend that no one had ever heard of (except those who were familiar with the daily operation of super-secret adamantium doors, of course). The man's name ought to be emblazoned at the top of each page in every history book that covered the last few decades – he'd practically written them, after all. Instead, Tony Stark used the name as part of some very colorful oaths whenever his tech glitched. That was the only experience Bea had ever really had with the man – third-person and extremely prejudiced – but now it was her turn to meet the mastermind.

Forty-eight hours before she was due to leave for Asgard, a helicopter, piloted by Agents Romanoff and Barton, arrived at Stark Tower – now refurbished to dually serve as the sometimes-headquarters of the Avengers. Since there had been no real group missions since the Shakespearean drama in New York a year back, the tower served as more of a frat house for super-friends than anything else.

Bea was just getting off work, a number of floors below, when the two assassins landed. It had been a good day in the office; Tony and Bruce (who had taken up Tony's semi-permanent invitation to 'Candy Land') had refrained from blowing anything up in their tremendous lab, so things had been literally pretty quiet. When something went boom upstairs, the whole tower shook, regardless of how many floors away one was. But there had been no boom, and Pepper was in the building, so stuff was getting done, and it was getting done _nicely_. It was, in fact, Pepper who came to let Bea know that her lift had arrived. They met Tony on the roof, where their boss was happily chattering away with/at Clint and doing everything in his power to get under Agent Romanoff's skin. Her expression said pretty clearly that he was getting close.

Then Clint noticed their arrival. Likely, Agent Romanoff noticed at the same time, but, well, she didn't say anything, so Clint got the points.

"Bea. Miss Potts."

Tony was in full show-diva mode, and he gave an affected half-spin to see the two approaching women. "Oh! Hi, honey! Ducky, you're looking nicely mottled today."

Choosing to ignore Tony in favor of the agents, Bea said, "How about we just get on the helicopter and get this shindig over with, yes?"

Clint smiled. Bea loved his smiles. They were rare and just a teensie bit dangerous in the whole I'll-stick-an-arrow-in-your-eye-if-you-look-at-me-wrong kinda way. There was very little bluffing with Clint. He had a small bark and a very big bite. It was actually a really nice change from Tony. In recent months, Bea had been wondering whether or not they should have copied the Asgardian muzzle design for her boss. The man never. Shut. Up. Seriously. Never.

It was Agent Romanoff who responded to her question, and Bea blessed the tremendous power that was fruit salad. "Of course. Director Fury is expecting us."

"Of course." Bea smiled – quick, no teeth – and followed the redhead into the passenger section of the craft. Clint took over the cockpit, all three donned the requisite headsets, and soon they were lifting off, leaving Tony and his petulant whining far below.

Once Stark Tower had become just another toothpick in the New York skyline, Bea let her head fall back against the seat and let a gushing sigh of relief blow through her lips. It was very nearly a raspberry. She was that thankful for the quiet. Was it sad that she found being in a helicopter, infamous for being one of the noisiest sources of aerial transport, quiet? She just couldn't help it. These days she was always tired. With Loki filling her dreams with rest or tension depending on his diva-like moods, her waking hours were becoming more and more strenuous. Her nerves were strung tight, and her patience had been worn as thin and smooth as cellophane. Pepper, though not aware of the cause, had come to realized that the Stark head of design was under some sort of stress, and had been trying to discretely reel in Tony's leash. If she just told him that his 'Ducky' seemed stressed lately, he'd go crazy trying to track down the source of her disquiet – like a squirrel storing nuts in autumn. Bea wasn't interested in any more attention.

Which brought her back to her present trip…

She opened her eyes to find Agent Romanoff giving her a painfully sympathetic smile.

"Tired?" she asked.

"A bit," Bea confessed.

"With your boss, I can only imagine."

"I'd offer some sort of witty comment about _your_ boss, but seeing as how I haven't even met the guy yet…"

Smirking, Agent Romanoff acknowledged the sentiment with a nod.

"So." Bea wiggled in her safety harness. It was very safe. And very snug. "I'm assuming that this meeting is due to my trip to Asgard."

"I'm sure it is."

"Anything particular, do you think, or just a general 'your eyes are our eyes' and crap?"

Agent Romanoff shrugged nonchalantly. It was Bea's personal and untrained opinion that the shrug was just a little too casual. Romanoff was actually tenser more stoic when she was comfortable with the situation and the people she was sharing it with (with a sharp dry sense of humor). This was an act. This was Agent-Tour-Guide-Barbie. Put the subject at ease, but don't do or say anything that the superiors might not approve of.

Bea felt her own face dip into a little frown, and she glanced out at the ocean they were zipping past. She was so spoiled. She was used to Tony – irritating as he could be – and his blatant openness. He rarely held the cards close to his chest, and when he did it was usually for selfish rather than official reasons. In the company of someone so aware of what they said and how they said it as Agent Romanoff, Bea felt like the new puppy worrying the ear of the big dog of the house. She was small, arguably cute, and possibly annoying in large doses. But it was the best she could do.

She had no idea how to deal with these people.

"Whatever the Director has to say," Agent Romanoff said, breaking the suddenly awkward silence, "it shouldn't take too long. He's… blunt. And concise. I don't think you should have any problems with him."

"Well, yeah," Bea playacted a bit, offering a smirk-y smile, "let's hope not."

She didn't mention that she had picked out the day's outfit with the idea of undermining authority and irritating stiff military types. Neon green leggings, rock ban t-shirt, skirt made of even more t-shirts. She was under twenty-five, so she convinced herself that she could still get away with it. Ladies in their seventies had blue hair, so why couldn't she wear some serious neon?

"Coming in for a landing," Clint said over the headset.

Bea glanced out the window, casually, interested in their destination, and then did a double take. There was water. Lots of water. This helicopter was _so_ not submersible. How bright was the sun up the cockpit? They were going down, and then the sharks and jellyfish would eat them. Did jellyfish eat people? Well, looked like she was going to find out.

Then Clint turned the 'copter, and Bea saw a flying aircraft carrier. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition. Or, apparently, a flying aircraft carrier. Bea wasn't sure whether to cry because she wasn't going to die, drool at the awesomeoness of it all, or take an impromptu physics course to figure out how that was even _possible_.

In another minute they had landed, and as Bea stepped onto the deck, ogling the massive flying ship, Clint stepped up to her, looking very smug. "Welcome to the Helicarrier."

He knew that she thought they were going to land in the middle of the ocean. Booger-face. If he ever came to visit Stark Tower again she was going to put glitter in his socks.

.O.O.O.

Bea had not anticipated the eye patch. She was happy that Director Fury was busy speaking to one of his subordinates and overlooking the 'bridge' when she entered. The functional eye was pointed in the other direction, and he would have needed peripheral vision to the left in order to see Bea and the two agents she'd just entered with.

He. Had. An. Eye patch.

Bea's eyebrow twitched, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

The man was a pirate captain on a flying ship. She really needed to find out when his next birthday was so she could send him a bottle of rum. Or a parrot. It would have to be a grey parrot to match the décor, though…

Eventually, Director Fury, the pirate king, turned around and welcomed his guest.

"Miss Doe," he said. "It's good to finally meet you. Agent Coulson always assured me that you were not as abrasive as Tony Stark, even if you do work for him. My agents here," he nodded at the two flanking her, Romanoff and Barton, "tell me likewise."

He stepped over to a table and waved at a chair opposite him. "Take a seat."

Bea scurried to comply. "Thank you – uh- sir." And she'd thought _Coulson_ had been intimidating. Sir? She didn't call anyone sir. Not even her boss. This guy really brought out the chicken-est in people.

Steepling his fingers, Director Fury gave her a very direct look. "Know, Miss Doe, that you are not the operative I would have chosen for this situation, due partly to the fact that you're not an operative at all, partly to your previous interactions with Loki," cue wince, "and partly because of the value that drew him to you. However, I am well aware that intergalactic politics are not in any arena that I can control to my own satisfaction, and the invitation was specifically for _you_, Miss Doe, and I think we all know what that is."

The way he phrased it made Bea feel like her talents and –debated – lineage were errors of some kind. She drew herself up just a little bit straighter. She had a backbone, now she just had to use it.

"That is also why I accepted," she pointed out. "I'm not interested in tourism, Director Fury. I want to know why I can do the things I do. If there's a way to lessen the side-effects so I can keep my lunch down more often than I lose it, I want to know it. It would also be nice to go outside without wearing sunglasses anymore. I'm not sure how well-informed you are, but these days the migraines are almost constant.

"So," she said, "that's why I'm _willing_ to go. I assume you're going to tell me why you're _allowing_ me to go."

Director Fury had lowered his hands and leaned back in his chair while Bea said her piece. Once she was done, his eye brows rose, and he said, "I'm allowing you to go so that you can help save Earth, Miss Doe."

And so she was caught flat-footed.

"What was that?"

"Earth, Miss Doe." A coyly evil smirk was toying with one corner of Fury's mouth. The other corner was as downright serious as it had always been. "We need you to help save it."

"Wait, wait, wait." Bea stabbed her fingers into her temples, trying to rub her thoughts into action and force away any migraine that might consider hitting while she was thus distracted. "So I'm being allowed to go to Asgard to recruit help, then, yes? Thor helped once, so he'd probably be willing to help again, but… but you clearly have some form of communication established in order to get the invitation, so…"

A photo slid under Bea's nose, and she took a moment to blink mindlessly at it. It was an abstract picture with rainbow blotches spreading out in odd shapes of various sizes. She looked up at Director Fury, hopelessly.

"It's an image from deep space that a spectrometer mounted on the Hubble telescope picked up about two weeks before your invitation arrived from Asgard."

"Um…" Bea looked the picture with even greater determination. It was like trying to see shapes in clouds. Once again, she met Fury's gaze with hopelessness. "I've always been more into Cubism, personally…"

"I can't make much out of it, either," Director Fury admitted, "but my specialists assure me that this is a large collection of metallic and organic objects heading – with purpose – in this direction."

Bea shifted positions and began rubbing her eyes. "So… ships? These are aliens?"

"Yes."

"Anyone we know?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Bea stopped all efforts to physically work sense into her head and looked up at Fury.

"Radio telescopes have also picked up some information from this part of space. Judging by past experiences and analysis, our scientists believe that this is a fleet of Chitauri."

"Please. Tell me you're joking."

"I'm afraid not, Miss Doe."

"So how exactly am I supposed to help by going to Asgard?"

"We want Loki back."

Bea choked on air. She wasn't quite sure how she managed that stunt, but she did. "I'm sorry, sir, I think I misheard you, did you just say…"

"Loki. We need him here. Now."

"But _why_?" Bea wanted to cry. Having him mess with her head from the other side of space was bad enough, but she could just imagine that knowing little _smirk_ he'd have when she invited him back to his would-be kingdom. Had he known? When he talked with her in her dream, did he know she was being sent to petition for his parole?

"He is the leading – the _only_ – expert we know of on the Chitauri. He knows their weaknesses, their command structure, their strategies, all of it. Or at least a lot of it. We need him to consult with our people. We need to be ready."

"And you need me to ask this, why?"

"Because our communication with Asgard isn't as stable as you seem to think it is. For all their technological advancement, the Asgardians are very old-fashioned. Our satellites picked up a storm in the same area Thor was sent by his father. When our team arrived, there was only a letter, made out to you, with a very limited invitation, complete with a place and time to be if the invitation was accepted."

Bea pouted. "How come I didn't get this letter?"

Eye brow up. "Why do you think?"

"Risk of leakage?"

"Precisely. Now stop asking dumb questions."

Bea shut-up obediently.

"Now, since you're willing to go to Asgard, we don't have to risk the Asgardians refusing a substitute. From what we've learned from Thor, the guardian of the Bifrost is a man called Heimdall. He can supposedly see and hear everything in the nine 'realms' the Asgardians are in contact with, including ours. If the wrong person showed up at the drop point…"

"He just wouldn't open the door," Bea said. "If he can see and hear everything, why don't you just ask him about your little prisoner relocation scheme?"

"Tried. No answer, as far as we can tell. We need someone to discuss this face to face with someone in command."

"Like Odin All-Father?"

"Yes, like him."

"Ah. Was afraid of that." She nodded, folding her arms over her chest. "So I'm playing ambassador."

"Hopefully more than playing, Miss Doe."

"Right. "

"This is important."

"I got that."

"Your mission is crucial to the survival of our planet."

"I heard you the first time!" Bea snapped. "Is that all?"

Director Fury nodded to Agent Romanoff, who handed Bea a thick folder marked with the official S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem. "Any further information you may need will be included in that. Let one of my agents know if you have questions. You're dismissed."

The mounting anxiety that had been building during their entire conversation finally snapped, and Bea leapt to her feet, moving to make a smart salute. Instead of pressing her fingers to her forehead, however, she clapped her hand over eye and snarled, "ARGG!"

And then she left the room very quickly, her two assigned agents following at her heels.

So much for being better behaved than Tony Stark.

.O.O.O.

After years of trying, Tony Stark had finally gotten her drunk. Bea wasn't sure where it had happened – somewhere between "I had a bad day" and "Just one or two more". It wasn't a really great feeling. All of her control was shot to heck, and it felt like she was almost physically sliding around on the greased marble of her thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Not so fun.

A bit fun-_ny_, though.

"I'm telling you," she insisted, wagging a finger in Tony's face, "the man is a sassy pirate."

"A sass…" Tony started laughing too hard to talk. In a couple seconds he was under control enough to try again – no one (except Tony) got drunk alone in Stark Tower. "A sassy pirate?" The end of the question dissolved weakly into giggles, and Bea caught herself tittering along with her boss.

"Ugh. This is all your fault."

"That you got invited to another planet?"

"No."

"That the Chitauri are coming?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"That I'm drunk."

"Yes. That is my fault actually." He wiped a tear away from his eye. Bea's vision was too blurry for her to tell whether it was real or not. "So proud."

"Jerk."

"Duh."

All of a sudden, he vaulted up from the couch where they were commiserating, and started digging around behind the bar. Once Bea's world had stopped swaying from the sudden jolt, she said, "No more for me. I'd spill it."

"Not alcohol."

"What?"

"Not booze!"

"Oh." She blinked. "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you have in your bar besides booze?"

"Lotsa stuff, but I've got a present for you in here… if I can find it."

"What sort of present? It won't explode, will it?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

And then Tony was stumbling back to her, holding out a little slip of gleaming silver… silverware.

"It's a spork," Tony said proudly.

"Got that, boss. It's very shiny. Thank you."

"It's titanium."

"Cool…"

"Every intergalactic traveler needs a spork. Never know what you're going to be eating – meat, salad, soup – best be prepared."

Bea started laughing, kept laughing, and then turned green. She ended the evening by running to the restroom and puking her guts up. Again.

**A/N: So, acclimating to work and such... not terribly chuffed with this chapter. I'm also very frustrated with my style lately. Everything feels very truncated and abrupt and it's bothering me. **

**PLEASE REVIEW. Seriously. Reviews make me write better, and I've been a bit bummed about the review tally on this fic (I'm spoiled, what can I say?), and that might have an impact on my style.  
**

**I have two other fic ideas, so if the support for this fic wanes I might start another and put this one on hiatus. Not forever, just... until... whenever...  
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**If I get lots of loverly feedback, and I know I have readers who would be up for reading MULTIPLE fics... I just might start another. Maybe. No promises. Review tally would have to rise A LOT for that, though.  
**

**Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing! You are AMAZING!  
**


	10. In Which Bea Gets a Lift

**Disclaimer: Please don't sue me; I'm poor, and we all know that I don't own _The Avengers_.**

Chapter 10: In Which Bea Gets a Lift

The Avengers were assembling, and Bea was departing.

Fury had shared the news of the impending Chitauri invasion (Take Two) with his merry band of heroes, and throughout the past day they had been trickling into their 'headquarters' at what was formerly Stark Tower. Apparently when Bea was drunk she was chatty, so the super-friends also all knew that she was supposed to bring a _pair_ of princelings back with her. None of them were pleased with her new reason for visiting Asgard, and all of them insisted on escorting her to her "launch site," as Tony called it.

They stood around her, guarding her from the empty sand-blasted nothingness that was New Mexico. It hadn't come as much of a surprise to anyone that the coordinates coincided with the same section of desert that had greeted Thor when he was banished to Earth a handful of years ago. Now it would serve as Bea's point of departure. Hopefully her point of return as well. The Asgardians hadn't included a due date in their invitation, and that little omission had Tony in a tizzy. Dr. Banner had pointed out – quite validly – that in many cultures it was rude to _un_invite a guest by telling them when they were expected to leave, and that this did not necessarily mean that the Asgardians planned on _keeping _her. But Tony had blow off the good doctor's good reasoning and gone into spoiled zillionaire mode. He wanted his Ducky. How would Stark Industries keep on schedule with its endless projects and parties if Bea wasn't there to finger paint? Who would make cookies and cinnamon bread? It wasn't fair. His employees were going off on vacation while he was stuck slaving away in the office.

Eventually Steve got the man to shut-up. And then they were all stuck in an awkward silence, surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the middle of the desert.

A lizard ran by.

Bea plucked at the long sleeves of her jacket.

Dr. Banner coughed.

Very. Awkward. Silence.

And it was hot – it didn't help that Bea was dressed inappropriately for the season. She was wrapped in cozy long sleeves and thick trousers to protect against the cold of space. No one knew what travel via the Bifrost was like, and, for all they knew, their meager precautions might be about as effective as a cough drop against tuberculosis. All Bea knew for sure was that her attire did not befit the desert of New Mexico in the waning summer season. She was sweating like one of Tony Stark's lawyers whenever a pretty new secretary was hired for the Tower offices.

"Well… it's almost time," Steve said, fishing for any way to drag them out of the Hole of Awkward he'd dropped them in.

Agent Romanoff checked her watch. "Four and a half minutes until the designated time. We might want to take a step back."

Everyone, sans Clint, complied with the subtle order. Not everyone was happy about complying (notably Stark), but… Romanoff was an assassin after all…

Clint tapped Bea's chest, fingernail making a muted click against the stone hidden beneath the fabric. "Don't forget what you're _really_ there for," he said. How like Barton. One short sentence to represent a thousand. There was an awful lot to read between the lines. _Clear my conscience. Get free. Stop wearing high-neck tops all the time. Get rid of this mark of my own devils._ Poor quiet Clint. "And don't give the snake an inch. Make him squirm for me." That was better.

"If everything goes to plan, you can make him squirm for yourself pretty soon," Bea said. "Target practice and all. At long last we can see if you're really better than William Tell."

Agent Barton smirked. It was mischievous and nasty. He stepped back to join the other Avengers, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents all began to scrutinize their watches.

"Be good and eat your vegetables," Tony ordered.

"I will if you will," said Bea.

"Hm. Too bad then."

She gave her boss a quick smile and tugged at her sleeves, stretching the fabric down over her knuckles and pinning it between her fingers. It was a comforting habit. It made her less exposed – not that the fabric of the shirt would really do all that much to protect her if something went wrong, but still, it was the thought that counted.

An agent's watch chirped an alarm. Time was up, and everyone craned their necks back to get a better view of Bea's ride.

All eyes were on the sky as the first coal grey clouds began to swirl together. Then something that looked like an energy twister of death started zipping down, and the ring of spectators surrounding Bea took several more steps backward in rapid succession. She, on the other hand, stood there, staring up at it, wondering if it would shred her or send her off to Oz like it was supposed to. A heartbeat later and it was on her – around her – beneath her.

The light was so intense it was nearly burning, and her eyes struggled to register the rapidly vacillating display of colors that shot around her, changing from coolly electric blues and greens to fiery reds and yellows. And, everywhere, there was gold.

Bea's breath was ripped away as her senses were overloaded with light and sound. The energy it took to transport a living being billions of miles in under a minute was intensely powerful, and Bea was quite literally _in_ it. It was tremendous, terrifying, and amazing. It was like flying and falling and being dragged along behind a truck – all at the same time. Something would have to give, and give soon. It was brilliant and it was _too much_. And then it was over.

Utterly disoriented, Bea was unaware of arriving anywhere. She was only aware of the absence of input, and for a moment the deprivation of the Bifrost's power – all-consuming light and sound – left her feeling trapped in her own body. Blind. Deaf. Instead of flying or falling she was just still – utterly still – and though it had all been too much a second ago, suddenly it felt like regular space was not enough.

There was nothing but breath.

After a moment – or an eternity, hard to tell – a large heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, and Bea gathered the scattered bits of her awareness back together.

"Bea."

Blinking woozily, Bea looked up to find Thor, the crown prince of Asgard, kneeling in front of her. But he was still taller than she was. Seriously, she wasn't _that_ small. At which point she realized that she was also kneeling, that she had fallen on all fours, actually, when she exited the psychedelic tunnel of dizziness. Dang. No roller coaster would ever be able to make her scream again. _Ever_. Seriously.

"Lady Bea."

Although her vision was still doing funny things, and her stomach was trying to reorient itself, Bea managed to frown. "I told you not to call me 'lady'."

She could see well enough to catch Thor's stupidly dazzling grin at her words.

"If you are able to chastise me, then I am sure you will be well."

"Yeah. I think so, too, just, you know, give me a minute. Still working on which way is up."

"I remember my first journey through the Bifrost," Thor reminisced. "It was… disorienting."

"Understatement of the year, my friend."

"I am grateful that you consider me your friend."

Bea closed her eyes, hoping that they would sort themselves out better in a bit of darkness, and took a long breath through her nose. Well-intentioned as he was, Thor needed to take some serious culture lessons. Since their worlds had been out of contact for approximately a thousand years, though, she couldn't blame the guy too much.

"And, speaking of friends," Thor continued, "I hope you find your feet quickly, because I have a few of my own to whom I wish to introduce you."

Once again, Bea tried opening her eyes, and this time they operated the way they were supposed to, and she could see.

The gold thing appeared to be a theme in these parts. It was no wonder her eyes had struggled to adjust. Everything was shiny and intricate and _gold_. Grandiose and highly polished, the gleaming entry room to Asgard certainly made one heck of a first impression.

No wonder Thor flaunted himself about the way he did. He'd learned it from his race in general. If this was the doormat, she couldn't wait to see the rest of the place.

"Feeling better?" he asked, a slightly teasing smirk fluttering on his lips, a few lines of worry crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah." Bea got one foot underneath herself and wobbled upright. "All better, thanks."

And that was when she saw their audience. There were five of them, all as outlandishly dressed as their prince. Though… all things considered… Bea was probably the one who looked out of place. Everyone else was wearing armor. She wasn't even wearing a sturdy jacket. Suddenly she was feeling underdressed.

One man, bigger than the rest and slightly removed, had angular ox-like horns on his helmet and a colossal broadsword in his hands.

Really, really undressed.

"This is Heimdall, the All-Seeing," Thor said, guiding Bea along with the hand still resting on her shoulder. "He is the gatekeeper of Asgard, our first and best defense against all enemies. He can see and hear all there is to be seen or heard in the Nine Realms."

Bea wondered exactly how much information the poor man was privy to that he would rather be ignorant of. Really now. _Everything?_ There were tons of people who on Midgard who still believed in make out sessions on public benches in the park. How many of those had the poor guy accidently glanced at?

Just. Wow. His life must be like a never ending moment of T-M-I.

Instead of voicing _any_ of that, though, Bea simply said, "That's very impressive. Pleased to meet you."

"We have already met, Time Shifter," Heimdall said. "Though, I doubt you have any memory of it."

His voice was deep, loud, and resonant, like the biggest bell in a cathedral's belfry. Authority and power probably oozed from the man instead of sweat. Regardless, Bea was getting a little tired of finding out that everyone and their cousin knew more about her heritage and powers than she did. "I think you must have me confused with someone else," Bea said.

"I most assuredly do not," Heimdall said,

Maybe coming to Asgard hadn't been the best idea after all.

And what had that been that Loki had said about enemies? Was there more to that than empty lies? Even a half-truth in that corner could be a very real problem.

Sensing, perhaps, the growing tension in the shoulder under his palm, Thor steered her away from the golden ox and towards the little troop clustered together by what Bea guessed was the exit of the golden doormat room. Three of them were men. One was a woman. Oh, thank heavens. Bea could use a break from the testosterone.

"These are the Warriors Three and Lady Sif," Thor said, booming voice ringing with pride. "They are my favored companions and shield brothers – and sister." Somehow, Bea got the idea that that was a common slip. Poor Sif. "Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Sif, come! Introduce yourselves! In Midgard it is customary to shake the hand of a new acquaintance."

The first to follow Thor's prompt was Lady Sif. She was a lot scarier up close, but Bea kept on a determined smile, and tried to return the strong grip Sif gave in the shake. Strong grip, indeed. Bone-crushing grip more like. "I am afraid that Prince Thor has been less than helpful explaining your background to us, Lady Bea. Are you a warrior? He did say that you escaped Loki when he took you from your home."

"Err, not a warrior, really? I work as a… hmm. That would be hard to explain. I help organize events and design the appearance of things."

So much for female bonding time. The warrior woman looked disappointed, but she reined herself in pretty quickly, and donned a more open and inquisitive expression. "An artisan?" she asked.

"More or less. And just Bea, please. I'm not a noble or anything, and titles like that aren't really used in Midgard anymore – at all, really. Or at least not where I'm from."

Sif was all but elbowed out of the way by a blonde with a pointy goatee who not only shook Bea's hand, but dragged it up for a quick kiss, much as Thor had upon their first acquaintance. "A lady is defined by grace and elegance. It is merely a title when the woman in question is unworthy and must force the word of praise from the lips of others." He smiled, quick, shallow, flirtatious. Then he finally let go of Bea's hand. "I am Fandral, Lady Bea, and it is a pleasure to meet a friend of my lord prince."

The ladies' man. Every group of friends had one. So, Fandral was the player. Good to know.

Next to take her hand – and actually shake it without injury or kissies – was an Asian-looking gentleman with a smooth top-knot and a severe face. "I am Hogun," he said.

Bea smiled again, making sure to fulfill her part of the handshake. If Doctor Banner and Clint had some strange fusing ceremony and became one person, she could see them becoming something like this guy. "It's nice to meet you."

He nodded respectfully and moved aside for the fourth and final member of Thor's personal posse.

He was very very big, and not in the strictly muscular sense.

Although he shook her hand, he shook it with _both_ of his, and Bea got the idea that he was more of a glomper than a shaker. He also had some issues with personal space. "I am Volstagg," he said, enthused. "Our prince has said many good things about your brief time together in Midgard. You – I understand – are the creator of some truly tremendous foodstuffs."

A foodie. Really, she ought to have guessed. Part of her really wanted to be offended that the only person in Asgard who wasn't mostly interested in her powers was interested in her cooking. Sometimes life just wasn't fair. Then again, it had worked to make things less awkward with the crew back home, so would it be so horrible to try it again here…? What did they even cook with in a place like this? Did they just magic it into existence, or did they spit a pig over the fire like olden days? Neither option sounded Bea-friendly.

"I am," she said, succinctly answering his question. Before the dawning hope in his eyes could spread to the rest of his face, though, she added, "Maybe when you visit Midgard someday I can cook for you."

Though this had clearly not been the answer he'd been hoping for, the big man took it with good grace and gently released her hand. "I look forward to the day with great anticipation, lady." And she believed him.

Introductions were thus concluded, and Thor eagerly guided (tugged) Bea towards the exit. She felt ridiculous following along at his side, dressed in her simple warm clothes – and the awful black back pack that S.H.I.E.L.D. had 'equipped' her with. It contained a strange combination of survival gear, basic toiletries and attire worthy of meeting an Earthly royal individual. Bea was beginning to feel that anything she'd stowed in her sad little back pack would be dramatically lackluster in the gleaming court of Asgard. She didn't even have any armor.

Tony would do a better job in this place… or at least his armor would.

"My father is waiting to receive you," Thor said.

"Right away?" Bea squeaked.

"But of course! You are our honored guest, and he would not dishonor such an ally by forcing them to wait for an audience."

Well, she hoped she hadn't ruffled herself up too badly during her little trip through Skittles land. Still, she wished she could at least put on a dress, or even slacks and a nice blouse. Anything other than the frumpy getup that S.H.I.E.L.D. had insisted on.

And _ally_? Really? Hadn't Thor implied just a few minutes ago that they were _friends_, not _allies_? The difference might be pure semantics, but Bea was still flustered by it. She was horrible at politics. She didn't enjoy them, and they'd never done her any favors in the past. It took a lot of brow beating to even get her to vote. Now she was being shortlisted for Most-Influential-Ally-In-The-Nine-Realms. It was so massively unfair that she could have cried. What was she supposed to say to Odin? He was powerful enough that humans had once considered him a god.

Then they marched out onto the shiniest bridge that Bea had ever seen in her life, and, rising in the distance, was Asgard in all its incredibly shiny glory.

Her thoughts of inadequacy tripled while being simultaneously smothered by the gleeful girl within who enjoyed glittery things. It was a whole city of shiny. Some of it was even floating. Holy poop.

"Uh, _wow_."

Thor seemed inappropriately amused at her loquaciousness and let free a good belly laugh. While Bea glowered, he took the reins of a horse – which Bea had ignored up to that point on account of the sheer volume of shiny – and turned to her expectantly.

"I assume that you do not ride," he said.

"You assume most accurately," Bea replied. "At least where horses are involved. I can ride a bike as well as the next childish office type."

"I thought as much." Thor shook his head. "Midgardians are entirely too fond of their machinery. Not once in either of my recent travels to Midgard did I see a horse in the streets."

"That's because they make smelly messes in inappropriate places," Bea pointed out. "Cars don't do that. Not to the same extent, anyway. Not as good for the environment, of course." And that was when it struck her. "You want me to ride pillion, don't you?"

"I thought it might be safest," Thor confessed.

Bea gave the animal a dark look – gave the prince a dark look – and then watched in testy silence as the prince swung up onto the horse's back. Like it was nothing. Show off. He held a hand out for her, and Bea took it slowly. But she had no idea what to do after that.

"If I may, lady."

She had just enough time to realize that it was Volstagg who had spoken, and then she was being hoisted up and over. She let out a manly squawk and wrapped her arms around Thor with enough force to wind a human. He and his chums all seemed to find it quite hilarious, though, and he showed no signs of pain.

Before Bea could thank or curse her assistant, the horse was moving, and then she was too busy clinging to Asgard's crown prince for dear life to worry about something so petty as her dignity.

**A/N: Wow! I should make threats/offers more often! Thank you all so much for the reviews! They really do mean a lot. Sorry for the posting delay - there's been some interesting drama in the real world. Worked like a mad woman last week, realized that one of my jobs (the rough one that paid less) was not working out so well for me, and quit it. The other job is going brilliantly. Still need to get another second job, though. In the meantime, I have more time to write, so rejoice! **

**My dad also came down with Bells Palsy. He's considering getting an eye patch until it fades, and keeps going around making pirate jokes. Considering the last chapter I posted... yeah. I laughed. A lot. Poor man. He's taking it very well.**

**Not sure about the second fic yet. I have some original projects that I think I need to work on first, and I feel like I should make sure I'll be able to finish this fic without running out of steam for this fandom before I start a second project. I am actually working on it, though. From time to time. When I feel inspired. It's fun, and very different.  
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**THANKS AGAIN! Please keep talking with me, because I love to hear your feedback, opinions and jokes! You are funnier than I am: fact.  
**

**Oh! I'm officially going to name the funniest reviewer from each chapter in the author's notes of the following chapter - starting with this one, meaning that I'll name the funniest review in chapter 11. So get reviewing!  
**


	11. In Which Demi Gods Gawk at Ducks

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 11: In Which Demi Gods Gawk at Ducks

Asgard did not disappoint. Since it was literally a world from mythology that was saying quite a lot. It was grand on an epic scale, and everything – down to the very last doorknob – was shiny. Surrounding and supporting the shiny city was a tremendous panorama of natural splendor. Mountains. Waterfalls. The sky was like a work of art, like a picture from the Hubble telescope reinterpreted by an impressionist artist. It was all beyond gorgeous.

Unfortunately, the populace of the gleaming city appeared to have mixed feelings about their new guest. It wasn't like they all ran to hide in their houses or anything, and there was plenty of friendly cheering as the crown prince and his friends blew past, but the cheering was definitely for Thor and crew, and not for Bea. Not that she'd really expected cheering, but the fearfully curious looks people were casting at her were getting under her skin awfully quickly. They all seemed surprised and anxious. Since she assumed that at least some of them knew she was coming, Bea was going to assume that they had just never seen someone who was so short. Or who had such off-beat hair. Ugly ducklings seemed to be a rarity in the golden city. All the people were tall, graceful and elegant. An unusually high percentage were blonde, and most who weren't blonde had brown hair or red. Not many ravens amongst the eagles. Certainly no ducklings.

To Bea's mind, they had nothing to fear from one little woman from Midgard, even if she could negotiate with time. At most she could cause a little chaos, a few neat pranks, but no real damage. She wouldn't even want to.

But if she did want to, she could stab the prince she rode behind. She could kill the king she was being escorted to see. She could hop of the horse and poison a well or something.

And these people knew it, and they feared rather than respected her for it. They were watching her like they would (probably couldn't) stop her if she moved to attack. And this was just the regular folks. Goodness knew how anxious the machinators at court would be at having such a monkey-wrench in their midst.

Every minute in Asgard seemed to add more validity to Loki's vague threats.

When they finally dismounted, Thor had to bodily hoist Bea off the horse, which was both embarrassing and awesome because, well, prince charming was literally helping her down from his charger. And Bea was used to feeling short, but all these Asgardians were truly _massive_, so standing between them made her feel like a kid again, and not just a short dork. The part of her that Tony had been encouraging and polishing the last few years wanted to find a lollipop somewhere and go skipping down the hall, dragging Thor along with her by the hand.

Fortunately, there were no lollipops in sight.

Though he did not lead her off in a skip, Thor did take Bea's hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm. It was a little awkward. Either she was just too short or he was just too tall, but, whatever the reason, Bea could feel how ridiculous the two of them must look as they marched into the palace.

For all the loudness and muscle, Thor was actually a very perceptive soul, and even though Bea's meanest pinch would have felt like the brush of a housefly to the Norse mountain, he picked up on her unease by the rigidity of the fingers curling around his arm. He gave her a very sweet smile, not the full-toothed twinkler grin, but a soft warm offer of support and concern. The smile's message was clear. Whatever he was about to lead her into, he was going into it with her, and he would get her out of it.

Ludicrous as she knew she must look, Bea was suddenly glad to be in such close contact with the prince. Especially when they entered the throne room.

Asgardians seemed to be big on large scale construction work. The room was bigger than _several_ football fields, and the proportions seemed to defy basic architectural necessities – like adequate support for that sprawling ceiling. Of course, Bea was pretty sure she'd seen a floating building on the ride to the palace, so she decided to keep her sad and woefully outdated Earthly opinions to herself. Maybe she would have been less hard on the room if it was deserted.

Though the throne room could clearly hold far more than the small crowd gathered to greet their prince/ogle Bea, the crowd numbered in the hundreds, and Bea felt crowded. On the journey from the Bifrost to the heart of the city, there had been only brief seconds when passersby could give Bea those uncertain looks, but during the long walk to the throne, Bea felt each of those gazes stick into her skin like a needle. Were they afraid of her or merely curious? The social rules for displaying curiosity varied by culture, and, though Thor had never had a problem expressing interest in a friendly way on Earth, he was noble, and social rules might have been bent for him.

Or maybe Bea was just weirder than she'd thought she was. The stupid S.H.I.E.L.D. backpack she was still wearing probably didn't help her image of oddity, though it did make her feel like more of an official time traveler. There was a project when she got home – make a 'travel' pack in case she ever learned to do more than play stopwatch. Wouldn't Tony be just tickled?

At least the faces in the crowd weren't hostile, even if they weren't excessively welcoming. One woman was brave enough to offer Bea a small smile, which she eagerly returned. After that her attention was pretty much owned by the sprawling throne ahead and the man sitting on it. Odin Allfather, complete with tremendous helmet, eyepatch and spear sat there, regally slouched, awaiting her arrival. To one side was a tall woman with golden hair and the first signs of graceful aging lacing over her face. She was clearly the queen, Frigga, Thor's mother. Bea could tell by the warm soft smile she wore – an exact copy of the one Thor had offered her as they entered the throne room. To the other side of the Allfather, two very solemn men in long robes were waiting, hands folded and brows furrowed. The studious types, clearly, though they were clearly warriors when they weren't reading, as evidenced by the sheer bulk of their shoulders. Turning pages might _seem_ strenuous at times, but it didn't get you as ripped as that.

Were there no scrawny dorks in this realm? At all? Other than Bea?

All too soon, they had arrived at the foot of the stairs rising to Odin's throne, and Thor took a knee. Because Thor still had her hand in the crook of his elbow, and because Bea had actually given some prior thought to her presentation to the Allfather, she also went to her knees. She had no idea what to do with her eyes, though. They touched Odin's face, bounced away, swung around Frigga's feet, glanced at the solemn men's hands, went to Thor's foot, and finally settled on the ground about three yards in front of her.

"Thor Odinson," Odin said, his voice trembling with aged power,"the royal court of Asgard is pleased to receive you." He paused, allowed a happy patter of applause to echo through the enormous room before he continued. "Please, present to this gathering your companion."

Ah, formalities. He knew who she was because he'd sent her the invitation. Now it was time for pomp and circumstance and all that crap.

"I thank you, father, for your welcome," Thor said in his booming he-man voice. "I have the honor and the pleasure of presenting Miss Bea Doe, of Midgard and the Chronos, friend of my friend and ally. "

He gave her hand a subtle squeeze in his elbow, and Bea felt her tongue double in size and weight as she tried to reply with dignity. "I also thank you, Odin Allfather, King of Asgard, for inviting me – and receiving me – to your plane- … realm. I thank you as ally of your son…" Thor gave her an encouraging little smile, "as a citizen of Midgard, and as a… as a friend in need of counsel." She was used to the rest of the world calling her a Chronos. That didn't mean that she had to name herself that in front of an audience of hundreds. Heck, she wouldn't even say it to her few friends back home.

Her answer seemed to please the court, though, especially the two monarchs towering before her. When she finally worked up the nerve to look Odin in the face, she found his one eye twinkling – so _that_ was where Thor got it. His lips were still set in a firm and authoritative frown, but it wasn't an unfriendly expression in the least. And Frigga was downright smiling. The woman was beaming at her son, and beaming at Bea, and was clearly suffering from My-Baby-Boy-Has-A-New-Friend syndrome. Bea wondered if she was a glomper. Based on her personal experience, Bea believed that Asgardians didn't know their own strength, and she was slightly worried about death by crushing embrace. All it would take was one good hug…

"Bea Doedottir," his voice grew a little stronger, steadier, like he was slipping into a role, or trying to prove a point. His eyes flicked to the two scholarly jocks waiting beside him, and Bea marked the move with some trepidation. Would these be friends, or the foes Loki had warned her about? And why was she taking the word of the god of lies? If he had just said that to make her mistrust his former people, then she was playing right into his hands.

Odin continued, unaware of his guest's dilemma. "We are likewise pleased to receive you to our court. We welcome you as friend and ally, as guest and ambassador. We bid you most assured welcome, both now and in the future."

Thor rose, more or less dragging Bea up with him, and led her in a polite bow. Bea knew she probably should have curtseyed, but she was wearing pants, not a dress, and she looked enough like a buffoon naturally without adding to the show. Behind them, there was a smattering of polite applause, but nothing too enthusiastic.

Well, Bea could do something about that. She would just have to prove that she wasn't the rabid stray their prince had dragged home. She was actually quite fluffy, didn't bite, and had already had all her shots. When she left, she'd have a bunch of new friends so that Tony's argument that she never had anyone else to hang out with on the weekend would be invalid.

Then Thor led her out of a side door, and Bea let out such a tremendous sigh she literally wilted on the prince's arm. He laughed, scooping her up by the arms and helping her legs regain their natural functional state.

"Well, that was…" Bea searched for the right word. "Dramatic."

"I thought it went quite well," said Thor. "My father had already chosen to support your presence here when sent the invitation to your world. This official presentation is nothing more than a formality."

"Nothing more?" Bea asked. Thor shrugged, and Bea clarified her meaning. "He wasn't, say, trying to make a point to _everyone else_?"

"Odin has a specific purpose for each of his actions," said Thor. "But it might have been for your benefit. Clearly you found the presentation at court intimidating, but it is considered a very high honor here in Asgard. Perhaps he meant to assure you of your position in this place."

"Or maybe he hopes to prove to the rest of Asgard that, freaky time-bender or not, I'm under his protection."

"I suppose he might…" Thor's mouth puckered down in a frown, and his eyebrows dipped towards his nose. "Honestly, I still have much to learn about such politics." His face fell into a slightly softer, sadder expression, his eyes glazing over with memory. "Loki was always the strategist. I merely depended on his skills and his silver tongue when I needed such delicate work done in court." Bea touched his arm, trying to console, sympathize, and his attention returned to the present, to her. "Clearly you expect some sort of threat from the people of Asgard. May I ask what has caused this concern, Bea? Is this unfounded fear the reason you were so hesitant to accept my first invitation on Midgard?"

"I…" Bea snapped her mouth shut – shook her head. Then she tried again. "I'd be happy to explain, Thor, and I mean no disrespect to your people, but, yes, I am afraid of a threat here, and I'm not sure which threat I should be worrying about."

Thor's frown deepened into real concern, and he automatically reached to rest his hand on his hammer. Poor Thor. He was clearly still learning that not all problems could be beaten down with a few good hits.

"I'll explain," Bea repeated, "but is there somewhere we could speak more privately?" She gestured around the wide corridor – sparsely populated, true, but clearly an often used path. An unwanted eavesdropper could turn up at any second.

Thor seemed to get it. "Of course."

He led her deeper into the gleaming palace of shininess, and every individual they passed treated the two in the same way they had been treated in the streets. Thor got respectful bows and bobs. Bea got suspecting glances and glowers and a handful of careless half-bows. This time, the prince seemed to notice. His expression was dipping from concern to downright displeasure. By the time they reached their destination (a smallish sitting room with a fire pit, padded benches and – surprise – lots of shiny), he was sporting a definite scowl. So this was what pouty Thor looked like. Interesting.

"And this has been happening since your arrival?" he asked.

"Yeah. I mean, your friends that you introduced me to seemed fine, but basically, yeah, everyone else thinks I'm going to pause time and eat their babies."

"I am… sorry, Bea, for this discourtesy."

Bea waved off the apology. "Meh. Not your fault. I thought I might be walking into something like this."

"Yes, and I am most curious as to how you came to know this."

"Well…" Bea looked behind her, found a convenient bench and sat down. Thor folded himself down beside her. Nervously, she rubbed the stone through the fabric of her shirt. Thor noticed and put a hand on her shoulder. "Your brother has this trick…"

**A/N: Exceptionally short chapter, I know, and I'm sorry. Next time I update, I will give you a nice big 'un to make up for this. **

**IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! I am considering putting this fic on hiatus for about two months. Reviews (or lack thereof) will definitely sway me, because when I get stuck (as I am presently - I have the plot but the words just aren't coming) I go back and read what Ze Peoples have to say. When you don't say much, I don't have much to read, and don't get as un-stuck. Also, let's face it, they just make me so frickin' happy! You all are so funny, and I love hearing from you. But, yeah, that's still undecided. I have another (massive) project that I'm working on, so that is also a factor. I don't think I have enough juice on my own to do both without outside assistance, so I really will need your help if you want this to continue.  
**

**Funniest reviewer of Chapter 10: This has to be a toss-up between Triquetra-Effect and something-i'll-remember for tomatoes and heartburn respectively.  
**


	12. In Which Sif Snacks

**Disclaimer: Because I'd totally be using my ideas for fanfic if I owned Avengers... right.**

**A/N: So, I owe everyone a massive apology. I planned on updating this Saturday, actually had it done on Friday, and then got distracted/forgot until this evening. So, without further ado, here is the next bit of Bea's adventures. Hope ya'll can forgive my absent-mindedness. Thank you all for your tremendous support while I went through my little diva stage. On with the show!**

**ALSO! My 'plan' is now to finish up a weekly chapter before I go to bed Thursday nights, which means that I should be posting Friday evenings when reader traffic is higher and you all get to start your weekends. Sound like a plan?**

Chapter 12: In Which Sif Snacks

"So he has been speaking to you," Thor said, "all these months since…" he gestured at the cool spot between Bea's collar bones, unable to frame his brother's transgression with words.

"More or less," said Bea. "Nosing around in my head might be a better description."

Thor took a long breath and settled his fists on his knees. Disconcerted Thor, Bea mused, was even cuter than Pouty Thor. The two looks were similar, but Disconcerted Thor smacked less of Spoiled Princeling and had a sheen of Future Monarch. Adorable, really.

"Whatever it was," Thor said, "you have had more words from him than any in Asgard since our return." He rubbed his face, a long pulling motion that dragged down his lower lids, wordlessly conveying the weary frustration resulting from his brotherly love. "He spoke not a word at the trial, nothing in his own defense, not even an insult."

"Well, that's saying something."

"Indeed." Thor took another tremendous breath and said, "So it was Loki who warned you about possible assassins in Asgard."

"Yes. And I'm sure you can see my dilemma. I know Loki can't be trusted, but…"

"But it is possible that there is some truth threaded through Loki's lies."

"And the only reason he'd lie about this at all would be if he wanted the Chitauri to get a foothold on Earth… or if he was just being generally devious and divisive, I suppose, which wouldn't be unusual."

Thor seemed puzzled. "Then that should bring you some comfort. Clearly my brother's actions have shown who his allies are, and his goal was most certainly conquest of Midgard."

"Well, yes, but I'm not so sure that it is now."

Thor's eyebrows flew up into his tousled golden rat's nest. "And why not?"

"Firstly, there isn't any proof Loki knows the Chitauri are coming to Earth, and the only way he could would be if he picked it up second hand from me somehow, but I don't think he has. We haven't chatted since I got the whole story. Also… because I saw stuff, right before you left," Bea said. She flapped her hands helplessly, trying to figure out how to describe the shreds of past and future that clung like cobwebs to the figures she saw in the present. "I bend time, right? Well, I _see_ time differently. There are bits of stuff that happened before the present, and sometimes bits of stuff that might happen in the future, and I can see them stuck on everything that exists _now_. Before Loki left with you, I saw something – some threat from the Chitauri. I'm not sure if you've gathered this already or not, but Loki was definitely tortured in some way before he came through the portal to Earth." Thor tensed. So, maybe they hadn't figured that part out yet. Bea settled a hand on the thunder god's arm (it only covered, like, a fifth of his bicep) and pressed on. "Anyway, they warned him about the consequences of failure – what they would do to him. They gave him a sample, and they promised that he wouldn't be able to hide from them in _any_ realm. Even if they were chummy pals before Loki failed to deliver the Tesseract, they definitely aren't now. Not unless Loki is the ultimate masochist. If the Chitauri take Earth, then they have a good solid base they can attack Asgard from. I really don't think Loki wants that now, even if he might have before."

For a few minutes, Thor was silent, and Bea reclaimed her hand in order to twiddle her thumbs while she waited for the prince to process her information.

"We must share this insight with my father," he said at length.

"I guess, but he's probably already figured it out," Bea said. "I mean, he hasn't ruled an entire realm for thousands of years just because he's lucky. He has to be smart, like, REALLY smart. And there's no telling how much of this your gatekeeper with the shiny eyes has already told him."

"Heimdall cannot always see the spaces between the realms," said Thor, "but, yes, he might have even more information than we do. Regardless," he clapped his hands against his knees and shoved himself onto his feet, "my father's duties will keep him occupied for some time. At earliest, we will be able to meet with him tomorrow. In the meantime, I am sure that you are hungry now that the effects of the Bifrost has worn off and your nerves have had time to recover from your introduction at court."

Bea's stomach gurgled. "I think that's a yes."

"Well, then," the twinkle was back, "to dinner!"

.O.O.O.

Though Bea feared massive banquet halls crammed with boisterous tipsy Asgardians, Thor did not lead her back to the more public areas of the palace, but rather down a mere two corridors and into a small room (small by Asgardian standards, at any rate). Inside was a fire, a long table shoved to one wall with a sizable spread of food set upon it, and four warriors reclining in various positions on the comfortable benches and chairs ringing the blaze.

The scene was cozy, comfortable and surprisingly dark. Unlike every other inch of Asgard Bea had been introduced to, this room had minimal gilding and lots of unlighted edges and corners. It was… private. Being welcomed into such a setting suddenly felt far more important to Bea than any royal race through the streets or pomp and circumstance in the throne room. She was welcomed, and here was proof.

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three scrambled to meet their prince, rising from their languid poses. Volstagg clawed furiously at his beard, triggering a waterfall of crumbs. Then he hastily wiped his hands off on his tunic. Clearly, someone had gotten hungry before Thor and Bea arrived. That seemed to be a regular occurrence, though, because no one batted an eyelash at the indiscreet cover-up.

"I have brought our new friend to dine with us," Thor announced. He clapped her on the shoulder hard enough to send Bea staggering. Her knees nearly buckled. Thor's friends murmured their approval and the whole herd headed towards the table.

Bea hung back and looked over the shadowed walls, searching for a good spot to dump her ugly S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued backpack. It was not exactly polite to eat with your pack on your back, regardless of what realm you found yourself in. Sif, who had been lingering towards the back of the Man Herd, noticed as Bea quietly lowered the black lump to the floor, and her growl of frustration startled even Volstagg from filling his plate.

"Thor," Sif said, voice like a blade, "please do not tell me that you have not yet shown your guest to her quarters and offered her the chance to _leave her luggage_."

Thor blanched, Fandral and Volstagg chortled, Hogun looked on in cool nonchalance, and Sif's glare slowly simmered her future sovereign. Bea settled for shifting from foot to foot and trying not to feel awkward. She really couldn't blame Thor as she was pretty sure he didn't usually have to deal with people who carried their own junk. Princes and nobles probably had loads of servants for that stuff. Bea just had her trust spine.

"Er," she said, "it's really not that big a deal…"

Sif rolled her eyes, marched over to Bea, and took her by the arm. With the firm authority of a woman used to issuing commands on the battlefield, she lead (dragged) Bea over to the table and picked up two plates, one of which she handed to her prisoner.

"If Thor has subjected you to the indignity of strolling about Asgard with your luggage on your _back_, then the least we can do is ensure that you get your fill of food before these vultures descend."

Bea wondered how undignified Sif would find a college campus – where _everyone_ carried their crap on their backs.

"What an unflattering simile," Fandral said.

"I do not eat carrion," Volstagg said, clearly offended.

"I am sorry," said Thor, looking every inch the kicked puppy. His head was ducked low, his shoulders hunched, his big blue eyes wider than usual. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs.

Bea always had a soft spot for puppies. "It's really not a problem…"

"Oh yes it is," Sif snapped. She grabbed Bea's plate from her hands and piled it high with meat, bread, cheese and fruit. Then she plonked it back into Bea's hand and steered her bodily towards the couches. "Don't give him an inch. He needs to have some discipline every now and again."

"Ok…" Bea let the agreement trail off and cast an apologetic look over her shoulder at Thor.

Her forgiveness seemed to be enough to restore Thor's appetite, and he joined the Warriors Three as they began divvying up the remainder of the feast. Watching their enthusiasm, Bea was glad Sif had forced her to go first.

"There won't be a crumb left on that table once Volstagg is done with it," Sif said. Her voice spoke annoyance, but the smirk-y smile at the corner of her mouth spoke fondness. These were definitely _her_ boys. She was like the Asgardian version of Agent Romanoff. When that thought popped into her head, Bea had to take a big bite of bread to hide her grin. Oh, goodness, those two needed to meet.

"I really do apologize for Thor's manners," Sif continued. "Usually Loki would…" She let the sentence die, a sentence that had clearly surprised her by sneaking out of her brain and off her tongue without permission. Bea felt the chill of the missing words (and the name) settle low in her spine.

Loki.

Amazing how she had forgotten the monster in the closet while the lights were still on.

Suddenly she missed Tony. Tony and his personal bar. The only way he could stumble through so much angst and terror probably _was_ because he was constantly drunk. Maybe he could teach her – though the migraine she'd gotten as part of her hang-over package was definitely a cautionary tale of morning after regrets.

She closed her eyes, leaned back into the firm support of the couch and tried not to shudder. Now that she was in Asgard, what sort of dreams would Loki spin her through?

The rest of the evening rushed by faster than Bea would have liked, even though she wore a paper smile pasted on her face after Sif's slip. The boys were busy trading stories of high adventure and might deeds done in distant lands, and Sif was busy maintaining an acid-sharp commentary on the improbability of some of their claims. Bea sat through it, laughing, eating and sipping at her drink. All too soon, it was time for them to all retire to their separate chambers, and Thor led Bea to the room he 'ought' to have shown her earlier. It was with some relief that Bea realized that most occupants of the palace had already retired for the night. Hardly anyone was in the halls. A short night was, in her opinion, a good one. It gave Loki less time to play with her head.

At the door to her room, Thor stopped and informed Bea of the next day's schedule. He promised that a servant would come and wake her, and that he'd stop by to pick her up on the way to breakfast. A word of thanks, two goodnights, and Bea was alone.

Her room was beyond nice, of course, and more than adequately shiny, and for a while she had no trouble staying awake. It was ridiculous to think that she could (or should) pull all-nighters for her entire stay in Asgard, but she was feeling ambitious – and terrified – and that made for a pretty potent mix. But it had been a long day, and she was suffering from the intergalactic rendition of jet lag, so it was only a matter of time before Bea's world began to blur around the edges.

And that was when she heard the god of mischief summoning her to sleep.

_Bea._

She shook her head. Stood up. Paced the room a few times. Then she sat back down at the edge of the bed, and her weariness came crashing over her head like a cresting wave.

Loki was laughing. _Don't fight so hard. You know you need to sleep. You'll need your stamina for the day ahead of you._

This time she only succeeded in twitching. At that point she knew she'd lost.

And she was falling backwards down a satin-smooth green hill.

_Come and find me._

When she woke up, she was lying in an awkward position across the bed, still dressed in the clothes she'd arrived in. She sat up slowly, feeling stiff but well rested, which was surprising for several reasons, the first of which being that she had stayed up to the wee hours of the morning with Thor and Friends, the second being the fact that she _knew_ Loki had been in her head.

And that was when she realized that she couldn't remember what she'd dreamed. All she could remember was… _Come find me._

She needed to talk with Thor.

.O.O.O.

The servant came as promised, and Bea spent an excruciating half hour being scrubbed, primped and polished by a woman who was in too great a hurry to even give Bea her name. The closest to a conversation they got was when the woman made a noise of deep distress at the sight of Bea's hair (short and patchy with grey) and Bea's response: "Don't bother. I gave up dealing with that mess ages ago." The woman did not give up, but she was clearly unhappy with the final results. Bea didn't care much one way or the other. All of Asgard had seen her after she'd been chewed up and spat out by the Bifrost, so, no matter what the woman did with her appearance, it couldn't possibly make it any worse.

When Thor finally showed up Bea saw it as an escape and happily launched herself out the door. The woman had been trying to take her measurements. The clothes Bea brought from Earth weren't terribly fancy (Not much could be shoved into a backpack without being utterly ruined), but she preferred her plain clothes to the heavy skirts and armored jewelry the Asgardian women wore.

Breakfast was in the same private room where they'd celebrated the night before, and Bea struggled to wait patiently while everyone finished their meals. Volstagg's appetite had never bothered her so much.

She needed to ask Thor about Loki, and she needed to ask in the very near future.

The fact that she couldn't remember her dream scared her even more than some of the twisted nightmares Loki had sent her when he was in a bad mood.

Once everyone was done and on their way, Thor asked, "Did you receive an overview of today's plans?"

"Um, no, come to think of it. I think my hair traumatized the poor woman who came to wake me up past the point of coherent speech."

Thor found this hysterical and announced the fact to half of Asgard with his thunderclap of a laugh. "Well then." He said, once he was recovered. "I will try to keep you apprised of the situation. Presently, we are going to see my mother, Queen Frigga."

"The _Queen?_" Bea squeaked. Maybe her clothes were inappropriate after all. She ran her hands over her shirt, like she could magically transform it into something shinier.

"Yes. She was Loki's first teacher in the magic arts. We are going to see her so that she may attempt to pry the stone from your chest."

"Oh, I get it. Right. Hmm. Not a healer or something?"

"No, not a healer. Healers fix damage done to the body, but the stone in your chest is a magical affliction, not an injury or sickness. Trust me, my mother will be able to do far more for you than the healers."

"Well, I trust you, so I guess I'll just have to believe you, too," Bea said, trying to chase away her anxiety with teasing.

"Yes, you will." Thor smiled.

Bea still needed to find out what happened to Loki – for the sake of Earth, for the sake of her sanity – but she wanted the stone out of her chest just enough. She was tired of being Loki's tagged whale swimming around in the ocean, stalked by researchers.

Then they were at the Queen's door, and Thor was knocking.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me thus far! Stuff will beginning picking up speed in the next chapter, and I look forward to continuing this fic!**

**Reviewer of the chapter: Has to go to ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe, because that was a hilariously valid point, and ! No wonder Loki wanted to take over Earth then, right?  
**

**Reader response:  
**

**Guest: Well, thank you very much! As this chapter proves, I have not given up on this puppy yet! I hope you keep reading, and thanks again!  
**


	13. In Which Bea Meets a Tree

**Disclaimer: Me no own - you no sue. **

**A/N: Holy poop, I LIVE! No excuses. I'm a bad person, but I really am back to stay this time.  
**

**I MISSED YOU ALL! Our hangouts shall now be a weekly occurence *hinthint*.  
**

Chapter 13: In Which Bea Meets a Tree

Queen Frigga was a very classy woman. She conveyed her status and upbringing through the simplest actions – like inviting people into her room.

"You may enter."

It was permission, request and invitation all squashed into four excessively polite syllables.

Thor strode into the room like he owned the place (well, he almost did), and Bea skittered in after him, trying to angle herself out of the queen's line of sight. Maybe if she didn't see much of her, she wouldn't think much of her, and then they could move on with their day. It was a really stupid thought, seeing as how this whole audience was over Bea's "affliction," but she was hopeful – or desperate – so she played the three-year-old and hid behind the big strong prince.

Queen Frigga was sitting at a tall loom when they entered, and she further demonstrated her grace and poise by standing up as Bea and Thor approached. Seriously. Bea had never seen someone turn the act of rising from a chair into a move fit for ballet. It was that stinking graceful. Bea couldn't even dream of being so smooth. Even her dream self was clumsy. There were always spare thoughts and concerns to trip over or stumble into.

"Thor," the Queen said, reaching to embrace her boy. Like a good son, Thor obliged her and wrapped the slender woman in a delicate hug. It was so sweet it made Bea's teeth hurt.

Once she had released her son, the Queen turned to Bea, and all the warm fuzzies fled her stomach. Smiling, the Queen held out her hand. Bea stared at it. Glanced hopelessly at Thor, then back at the hand. Was she supposed to kneel and kiss it or…?

Frigga laughed. "Don't be so worred, Doedottir. I am told this is how the people in your part of Midgard greet one another." Taking the initiative, she stepped forward and clasped Bea's hand, giving it a gentle but firm shake. "It is a pleasure to meet one of my son's Midgardian allies. Please," she waved towards a little cluster of upholstered benches across the room, "sit."

Like a good dog, Bea obeyed.

Frigga settled down beside Bea , hands folded primly in her lap and a gentle smile warming her face. Her posture was exquisite. Struggling to present herself as a worthy friend of the Queen's son, Bea tried to copy her. She stretched her spine straight and pulled her shoulders back. But almost instantly, she felt herself slumping back into her usual – not so exquisite – posture. Thor settled on a bench opposite the women and planted a fist on his knee. He leaned forward just a smidgeon, clearly eager to hear his mother's prognosis.

With careful hands, the Queen cupped Bea's jaw, angling it from side to side and peering into her face.

"You have not been sleeping, child."

"No. Or, not very well at least."

"May I ask why not?"

Judging by the look in her eye, she had already guessed, but Bea answered anyway, as was expected. "Ever since the stone was – ah – well, Loki has been climbing around in my head while I'm asleep."

"Dreams."

"Yeah."

"And he speaks with you in these dreams?" Her face was eager, _intensely _eager, and at that moment Bea realized Frigga was not just examining her to fulfill her duties as queen, but to seek the answers she craved as a mother. Bea remembered what Thor had said about Loki's silence.

"Yeah," she said. "He talks."

Queen Frigga waited, watching her with patient expectation, and Thor leaned a hair closer. Bea was worried that he'd fall of the bench if he kept doing that every time she paused.

"He teases mostly," she continued, bowing to their silent demand for details. "I've told most of this to Thor already, but… he likes to toy with me, I think. He said, uh…" She glanced at Thor. He nodded. "Loki claims that there are people here who want to kill me."

Frigga leaned back, her expression darkening. It was her turn to glance at Thor, and he turned the full force of his puppy dog eyes on his mother. After a brief inner debate, she caved.

"While it is true that Loki delights in tormenting even his closest friends with lies and half-truths, it is also true that some among the Aesir still nurse fear and distrust for the Chronos." In her lap, her hands fluttered, a sure sign that the subject distressed her. "As I'm sure you have seen, we are a warrior people, and we value that strength. When a warrior meets something beyond his comprehension, something stronger than himself that he cannot fight, he fears it. All creatures fear what they do not understand, and this is exacerbated when the thing they do not understand is mightier than they."

"But I'm not mighty," Bea said. "I'm a scrawny geek with ugly hair."

"A scrawny geek who can stop time," Queen Frigga said. Bea opened her mouth to argue, but the Queen held a hand up for silence, and Bea instinctively obeyed. "Do not downplay your abilities. To do so is to do nothing but lie to yourself. When you stop time, you are as powerful as an Aesir. No matter how strong the man, you could slay him before he even realized the danger. You are a fiercely powerful opponent, Bea Doedottir. Never delude yourself into believing otherwise."

It was a struggle not to feel like a chastised elementary school student. The weight of Frigga's authoritative words dragged Bea's eyes to her shoes. She couldn't imagine what it must be like when the woman was actually angry. No wonder Loki hadn't wanted to come home and face the music.

But she didn't have long to mope, because the prince was already charging ahead with the conversation. "I agree," he said. "Your troubles with my brother have all stemmed from his fascination with the powers you naturally possess. My brother is many things, but he is no fool. If you should ever doubt your abilities, remember the efforts Loki has made to acquire your talents."

"Speaking of acquiring…" Bea tugged her collar aside to reveal the bit of alien bling embedded in her chest. "What are the chances I'll be able to wear tank tops again without a lot of awkward questions?"

Frigga hardly even glanced at her second son's handiwork. "This is magic beyond my area of expertise. By the feel of the spell, I imagine it can only be undone by he who cast it, if that. It is possible that it cannot be undone at all."

Bea squawked. Thor gave a short roar of disbelief.

Every article of clothing she would never be able to wear without a carefully pinned scarf flashed through Bea's mind: tank tops, scoop neck shirts, sundresses, ninety-nine percent of wedding gowns – pretty much anything without a high collar.

"I cannot believe this," said Thor. "Surely Loki would not…"

"Your defense of your brother is admirable, my son," his queenly mother interrupted, " but you must realize that he has already attempted to destroy one world and conquer another. He is capable of many things we may wish he was not."

"Can you at least do something about the dreams?" Bea asked. "I can do scarves. Really. I'm not that vain. I can't deal with him in my head, though." She couldn't look either of the royals in the eye. There was too much sympathy there. Holding their gazes too long was an open invitation to helpless blubbering. Bea stoutly refused to bawl in front of the Queen of Asgard, Thor's freakin' mother. No way. Even if she had to deal with a maniac in her head every night.

As she balanced on the perilous ledge between a firm upper lip and open weeping, Queen Frigga drew herself up into her queenliest and prepared to deal her guest a verbal sucker punch.

"Regardless of whether or not he _can_ break the connection he has established with you, what matters most is whether or not he is _willing_ to." The queenly hands folded once again, and Bea physically braced herself for impact. "The best way to free yourself is to engage Loki on your own terms, face to face. Peace can only be made by negotiation. Now that you are here with us in the flesh, I can imagine no better opportunity to do just that."

"Um." Bea glanced at Thor. "Um." Bea glanced at the Queen. "I think I'm allergic to malevolent gods of mischief with designs for world domination."

Thor seemed to think this was a great joke. "You are no such thing."

"Of course not." Queen Frigga smoothed her gown. "There is time enough for you to see him before the feast tonight."

Bea snapped to attention. "Feast?" Her stomach clenched, and not with hunger.

"Yes." The Queen surveyed her guest with eyes of steel. There was no way Bea was winning this. "A feast to welcome my son's ally, the friend of our prince. And, assuming you brought nothing more than the satchel on your back yesterday, I gather you have no appropriate attire?"

Nibbling the inside of her lip, Bea tried to divine the Queen's meaning. "Define appropriate."

The Queen glanced down at her long gown with its glittering threads and embedded gems.

Slowly, Bea said, "I'm thinking I don't."

"It does not matter." She further scrutinized Bea, but with a reassuring smile this time. "I'll have something brought to your room while you and Thor speak with Loki."

Well, that was that. She was going to see Loki and attempt to have a civilized conversation with the man who would be king. Then she was going to display her atrocious table manners for all of Asgard to behold. Why had she decided to get out of bed that morning?

.O.O.O.

Nothing said more about the Asgardians' devotion to shiny things than the fact that their dungeons were walled with gold. Bea had expected the gilding and polish to gradually fade as they went deeper into the 'rougher' areas of the palace, but although the halls got narrower and the ceilings came lower, they were still very shiny. It took dedication to be so thorough with your décor – seriously. She wasn't sure if that made her more or less comfortable. On the one hand, grimy dungeon cells with rattling rusty chains would have been expected, but there was nothing comfortable about a traditional dungeon. On the other hand, this was like going to some super villain's high end torture room, hidden behind a bookshelf in their penthouse.

And there was Loki to think about. Bea was desperate to feel some sort of advantage over the man, and a traditional dungeon might allow that, but this? This was so obviously his domain. So posh. So polished. Even as a prisoner, he would have the upper hand. If was frustrating and terrifying and annoying.

And Thor was trying to pretend he was oblivious to Bea's mounting stress.

He walked just a step ahead of her, princely cape a-sway and eyes fixed forwards. As awesome as Thor was, his brother served as one heck of a weak spot. Thor always made a tremendous effort tobe considerate and aware of the needs of those around him… except where his brother was concerned. He'd acknowledge others' complaints against his evil green sibling, but he would never share in them, and his brother's misdeeds made him palpably uncomfortable. That discomfort translated to distance. So he was no real use to Bea as she approached the lair of the beast.

How was this supposed to work, anyway? Did she just go in, say her piece and wait for him to laugh at her? Or did he get to grandstand first and then scoff while she begged him to remove the rock from her skin? What was she going to say? How should she say it? Should she be angry? She doubted that would faze the second prince of Asgard much. If she cried she'd just look pitiful. There was just no winning this.

Thor finally stopped before one of the golden doors along the shiny hall, and Bea forced herself to stay by his side. She did not hide behind him, take off screaming down the hallway, or try to further explain why this was actually a really horrible idea and it was time to get ready for the thrice-darned feast anyway. She held still and kept silent at his side. And then the door swung open.

Bea's first question was what a tree was doing about a mile under ground. Then it dawned on her that the tree was the room's only occupant.

She rounded on Thor.

"Uh, is this the wrong room?"

"No," Thor said, stony faced. To emphasize his point, he strode into the cell. Looking up at the tree, he greeted it. "Brother, I have come with Bea Doe. Will you speak with us?"

There was no reciprocation from the tree, and Bea was beginning to wonder if Thor had dropped his hammer on his own head. Tree hugging was one thing. Calling a tree your relative was a whole different kind of ecologically friendly.

"…Thor?" Bea glanced between the tree and the demigod, completely lost. It took a minute for the truth to dawn on her, and as the light of comprehension grew, she could feel her eyes widen. "No way." She looked at the tree again. Then back at Thor. Then back at the tree. "Your dad turned your brother into a tree? Well, no wonder he isn't talking to any of you! "

"The tree is not Loki," Thor said.

"I don't see anyone else in here."

"My brother is _within_ the tree," Thor explained. "Bound by magic. He can… surface… and communicate with the outside world, but it tires him, and he has never bothered replying to those of us who take it upon ourselves to commune with him."

"That is because, son of Odin…" Both visitors snapped around to see Loki's face rising from the bark, shedding wood and growing skin as it emerged; his neck followed, arched under the strain of separating himself from his prison, "…there was no one worth speaking with." His chest and arms gradually grew into view, his wrists shackled to the limbs with long draping chains. Once he was half-free of the tree he relaxed with an audible sigh, and, rolling his neck to ease the tension, he leveled the glare to end all glares at his adoptive sibling.

Thor stepped forward, eyes shining, oblivious to the ocular venom spewing towards him. How long had it been since he'd seen his brother?

"Loki…!"

"You may go," Loki said. "I have no desire to waste words on you. Have I not had a year to respond to your pleading? Go. Leave me with our dear Miss Doe."

Bea didn't take her eyes off of Loki, but she snatched sideways for Thor's hand. She really, _really_ didn't want to be alone with Loki again, not even chained up tree-Loki.

Though he clearly had no intention of complying with her silent demand, Thor offered her hand a warm squeeze and murmured, "Have no fear. He cannot harm you as he is, and I shall be just beyond the door."

She squashed the urge to whimper as he moved away and decided to stand up very straight instead. There was nothing quite like a tree to make you feel short. The door clanged shut with a doomful ring, and Bea settled a hand over her diaphragm, determined to control her breathing.

Loki had become a complicated problem of hers. He was history and myth and reality and dreams and now a dominating element in the present. There was no way to really categorize and label him. She couldn't safely block him off in some disused part of her mind. He was always changing, shifting, _lying_. The locking problem appeared one-sided, though. Loki couldn't seem to get enough of tossing her into small rooms and leaving her to her own devices. The last time she'd been alone with him she was being shoved into a closet. Yet he seemed so determined to know _which_ closet she was in, and to know that _he_ had the key to the door. Did that make him a neglectful control freak? And now … now he was locked in a tree (talk about reversing roles), and Bea just didn't know how to process the situation. She felt a little bad for him. But he was a lying snake. And she couldn't help seeing the faintest tinge of the ridiculous, the comical, in the fact that he'd chosen a broom closet to toss her in, that his ego was so wildly out of control, that he was a _tree_. God of mischief indeed.

As Bea's head spun with problems of logic and character, Loki watched her through unusually vivid green eyes. Bea did not remember his eyes being so green; could the dull grey she was used to have been a side effect of the tortures and machinations of the Chitauri? Or had the god of mischief just gotten bored and decided to make a few changes? He smiled patiently while she made her observations, as if they'd never been separated by half the universe. Then he cut straight to the small talk.

"How do you find Asgard, Bea Doe? Is it everything you expected?"

"More or less. It's… shiny."

"Yes," Loki said. "Most find it so. Of course, there are many who would claim that your world is simply dull by comparison."

Bea shrugged. "Aw, well, Earth isn't too dull. Awful lot of people fighting over it lately. Must be something special there."

"Something." Loki lifted his chin, eyes slipping half-closed, a wisp of a smirk fluttering around the corner of his mouth.

Stupid man and his stupid word games.

"But I am most curious," he continued, "whether the warning given to you has proven itself useful yet."

"About that." Bea cocked her hip to the side and planted a fist on it, aiming for a nonchalant pose. Loki's toothy smirk told her she hadn't really succeeded. "The guy who gave me the warning isn't a very trustworthy person, you know? I'm not sure whether or not I believe him."

"Do you truly believe that I am a liar, Bea Doe?"

Her eyes slid away from his face. Lying wasn't hard in theory. Lying convincingly was difficult. Lying convincingly while making eye contact was frigging impossible. "Well, you are kind of known for it."

Loki leaned forward in his chains. He didn't move all that far forward, but Bea caught herself taking a hurried step back nonetheless. What could she say? Old habits died hard. "You see the echoes of the past and the glimmers of the future. Have you seen a knife in a councilor's hand? Watched a smile darken?"

"This is a warrior society, idiot." She couldn't meet his eyes, and she couldn't stop the anxious way her thumb was massaging her knuckles. "There's a lot of violence in everyone's past. And future." Finally, she managed to look him in the face again, but the fidgeting continued. Her show of fortitude really was just that, and it wasn't even a very good one.

"Oh." Loki's trickster eyes were gleaming. "So the future is not so peaceful for Odin Allfather and his people as he would wish."

"I repeat," Bea said, shifting her weight, "warrior society."

Loki threw back his head and laughed. His chains clacked and tinkled as his shoulders shook from the force of his mirth. "Ah," he gulped air, still laughing between breaths as he gradually regained control of himself. "Bea Doe." He lowered his gaze and his eyes once again fixed on her. "I am glad you are here."

"That makes one of us."

Canting his head, Loki asked, "Have you noticed how grey you are growing?" Bea grabbed at her hair self consciously. She had noticed. So had Tony. He wouldn't shut up about his Ducky getting uglier when she was supposed to turning into a swan. Jerk face. "I shouldn't be surprised if you discover a new… what did you call it? Ah, yes… 'party trick' soon." It was difficult to pin down his tone – surprised, approving, almost affectionate.

"I'm fine with what I can do already," Bea said. "I'm already enough of a freak as it is."

"We are all 'freaks', dearest," Loki said, patronizing.

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh, I assure you, I do."

Bea was finished with the chit-chat. She was going to ask what she came to ask. And if he decided to be a witch about it, then she'd just leave him to hang in his tree. She could be brave. Thor was right outside. As much as he might pose and fume, Loki wasn't in charge here. Backbone. She needed a backbone. Must have left it in the broom closet where he locked her during the battle of Manhattan.

Oh, well. No back bone. Just guts, then. "Look, this isn't a social call, I came to ask about…"

"My gift." Loki's smile was of the slow crap-eating variety. "You wish for me to remove it?"

That was easy. "Well… yeah."

He smirked, smiling from the side of his mouth as he tilted his head. "But you already know my answer."

"Of course." Bea rolled her eyes. Adjusting her footing, she braced herself for request number two. "I was also wondering if you'd be willing to pull your sticky fingers out of my head and let me sleep like a normal person. The zombie eyes aren't a very attractive feature, you know. I'm never gonna get a date, and it's a good thing my boss likes me, because if he didn't I think I'd be fired by now because, seriously, I look like pothead."

The smile stretched so wide it crinkled his eyes. Bea wondered where he had learned such an expression. It was downright nasty.

"Not a chance in all of the Nine Realms."

Bea told herself she wasn't shocked, that she wasn't surprised, and that she'd never expected anything more from the snake. It wasn't like she'd lost anything by asking – except, perhaps, a shred of her dignity. Her mouth was dry, and she could feel the skin of her lips peeling, so she nipped at the loose flesh as she folded her hands behind her back. "Guess that's all, then."

"Oh, on the contrary," Loki said, "there is much more for us to discuss."

He grabbed onto his chains, hoisting himself just a precious inch or two higher, and lifted his chin so he could look down at her with all the high majesty he thought he deserved. Bea raised her head to answer his assertion of dominance, but she could feel the mechanical instinct behind the motion. She had always been good at copying outward signs of bravado she didn't feel. Bea's courage was an empty charade – a bluff. And Loki was the god of lies; he could see through her as easily as he breathed, and he'd never made a secret of it. Now he was going for the soft hollow in Bea's chest where she hid her secrets and her closely guarded nightmares. He would break open the shell and let the awful light of reality bleed over them.

"You will find that, no matter how well Odin's councilors may explain the technicalities of your heritage, no matter how much support your human allies may give, no matter how many pretty lies you whisper to yourself, you will never be comfortable in your own skin; you will never truly understand what you are until you embrace the fact that you are alien."

Venom flowed through his voice, stabbing at the most delicate fears Bea guarded. There was no antidote. She could feel each word poisoning her just a little more.

"You are different from them. You are different from all others. And that difference will only grow in time – as you watch your mortal friends fade and wither with age while you remain fresh and young, as those who swear love and affection for you grow to fear you for your talents." He shook his head, denying her petty illusions. "Oh, no, Bea Doe, we have much more to discuss, because even if it takes a hundred years, or a thousand, eventually you will come seeking solace in the presence of the familiar – the alien, the solitary horror – me. For I am more like you than you fear to imagine."

Bea dug through her mind for words to answer him, but it was in tumult, turning over itself to escape Loki and his delicate word-shaped daggers. Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again and just froze there, waiting for syllables to come pouring out – snarky shields ready to defend her precarious paper skin. When she finally drew a breath it shuddered in her mouth and rattled as a faint cry as she gulped it down. Loki leaned back his chains, watching. His mouth was closed now, and his eyes calmly focused, waiting to see how deeply his barbs had buried themselves, how well his silver tongue had done its work.

By the time the first breath hit the bottom of her lungs, Bea had already snapped in two more, and each burned worse than the last. Her hands trembled by her sides, and the first misty hints of tears were fogging her view. As her mind unsnarled itself, her hands clenched. Her breathing grew steadier, and she forced herself to look Loki in the eye. She didn't manage to make contact for more than an instant, but it was something. And then she was marching as quickly as she could from the room.

The door was unreasonably heavy, and Bea suddenly decided that it was the worst door to ever be mounted on hinges. She hated it. It was pointless and stupid and it took entirely long to shove open.

As she squeezed through the narrow gap she'd made for herself, Thor leaped to attention, shoving away from the wall he'd been using as a prop. He grabbed the door, seeking to pull it wider, but by then Bea was already through. She hurled herself back against the awful door, slamming it shut and almost catching Thor's fingers in the process.

"Bea?"

She glanced at the ceiling and pulled in a deep, steadying breath that settled at the top of her stomach. With a few blinks she dispelled the mist in her eyes, and then, hands still fisted, she started back the way they had come.

"Bea!"

Thor's hand came to rest on her shoulder. Moving forward wasn't really a possibility anymore, so Bea came to an abrupt halt and dropped her eyes to the floor. Carefully, Thor placed his other hand on her vacant shoulder and turned her to face him. Well, face his feet.

"Bea, please. What did Loki say to so upset you? I assume he refused t o comply with your request?" His concern was touching – literally – and Bea was afraid that if she let him continue the teary fog would return.

Frustrated by the pain, the fear, and her inability to them, she ground her palms against her eyes and took a quick puff of air through her nose. "Don't pay any attention to me," she said. "I'm just being stupid."

"We should make haste," Thor said, gently. "The feast will soon begin, and we have yet to prepare." Removing his hands, he offered her his arm. "I will guide you back to your chambers."

"Thanks."

"It is my pleasure."

Bea wondered how she would be able to appropriately indulge in a feast when all she wanted to do was throw up.

**A/N: So, in other news... Loki's back... I also deleted the previous 'chapter' where I announced my absence since, well, I'm back...**

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**Guest: Why thank you very much! It means a lot that other people enjoy this stuff, too. Tony Stark isn't paying me, either, but I sorta wish he would. Then I'd buy a share in his company and get rich. Hope to hear from you again!  
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	14. In Which Bad News Abounds

**Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue.**

Chapter 14: In Which Bad News Abounds

Bea didn't like to think of herself as a coward. But maybe she was.

Since arriving at the feast, and that had been several hours ago, she had been unable to put a single bite in her mouth. She did a lot of cutting and shuffling, moving her food in an intricate dance across her plate, and she got down a few swallows of wine, but didn't dare try anything else. If she tried to actually eat, she was pretty sure her stomach would affirm her cowardice in a very nasty and public way. If she tried to drink more, she was pretty sure she'd be dancing on the tables in short order. Not the sort of stunt she wanted to pull in a crowded room of semi-hostile demi gods.

Even if she was hungry, though, it was unlikely there was enough room for her _and_ a sandwich in the corseted bodice she'd been forced into. It had looked lovely spread out on her bed, and she was sure it made her look better than she had ever looked in her life, but Bea was coming to understand why princess were always busy fainting and being generally useless. They didn't have the breath for anything else, and whenever they tried anything remotely undignified – like slouching – their corsets were swift to show them the error of their ways.

But she sure had to look happy, dang it, because she was seated immediately to Thor's right, just two seats removed from the Allfather himself. This was the high table, and it lived up to its name – being elevated on a low dais above all others. It was like being a shop window dummy.

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing she couldn't eat, because she had atrocious table manners.

Thor, busy eating, drinking and laughing it up, kept interrupting his merriment to shoot her concerned glances. It made Bea feel guilty for sulking, guilty enough to up her act and smile for him, but not enough to actually stop moping. Loki was too good with words and weaknesses. It would be a while before she genuinely felt up to smiling.

She missed Tony. If she was back on Earth, he'd drag her off, get her to do something stupid with him, and then leave her to explain the mess to Pepper. Instead she was stuck in the limelight, pretending to be fine for a whole bunch of aliens who didn't even like her. Plucking up her knife, Bea set to work shredding a slice of roasted meat past the point of recognition. She was interrupted by Thor's great big hand engulfing hers.

"My father wishes to have words with you after the feast," he said.

Have words? What words? Bea looked down at her plate, wondering if she'd just offended all of Asgard with her lack of appetite.

"Fear not," Thor said, "you are not in any trouble. I believe this has to do with the reason S.H.I.E.L.D. agreed to your visit."

Bea's mind flew to inter-galactic conspiracies, and she shared her suspicions with Thor through a sharp sideways glare.

"My father and Heimdall both took note of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s demand for an audience, and of their fears concerning the Chitauri."

"So, what, were they just playing hard to get?" Bea asked.

"No, they were simply demonstrating the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. does not hold sway in Asgard. Odin is king here, and he does not bow to the wishes of every mortal who knows to shout at the sky." It could have been Bea's imagination, but she was pretty sure she caught a sharp zip of sarcasm in Thor's voice, and she definitely wasn't imagining how much his grip on his goblet had tightened.

"Ah." It might be wisest to pay attention to her own plate. "Right. So… I won't have to explain it all, then."

"Indeed."

The feast proved awkward after that. Thor regained a pleasant expression after a few minutes, but Bea could practically smell the miasma of princely temper rolling off him. And she couldn't forget that Odin Allfather was sitting two places down, probably thoroughly aware of the whole pageant of awkwardness that was unfolding… and Heimdall was probably watching, too.

Bea was starting to really hate Asgard. There was no privacy; someone was always watching.

Eventually, though, end the feast did, and Bea discovered a whole new level of awkward as she tried to riddle out whether she was supposed to follow a servant to the meeting room, wait for Thor to escort her, or tag along on the Allfather's coattails.

"Bea Doedottir."

Speak of the devil…

Bea snapped around to look down the table at the Allfather. For a second she tried to rise from her chair, then realized that was probably unnecessary since they were supposed to be eating dinner together – eating… right. Conversation would be difficult if everyone Odin spoke to had to rise and bow before answering. So, instead of continuing her imitation of a drinking bird, Bea craned forward in an unladylike manner to see the Allfather's face around his son's gargantuan shoulders.

"Yes, sir? Sire? … Highness?"

Odin's eyes twinkled. A passing connection floated through Bea's mind, and she wondered whether Loki truly got all his mischievousness from his "other" parents.

"The hour grows late, and I would speak to you before the festivities end. I have words for you, and you, I understand, have a few for me, entrusted to you by the folk of Midgard."

"Of course…"

Before Bea could make herself look like anymore of an idiot, Odin raised his hand, the twinkle in his eye sparking the dimmest hint of a smirk, and said, "Allfather will do well, Doedottir."

"Of course… Allfather."

With that, Odin rose from the table, and Bea scrambled to follow suit. In her rush she smacked her knife off the table, and she darted down to pick it up – rethought the matter – and popped back up after bending halfway down. She glanced over to find Thor was grinning like an idiot. Freya, now visible from her new vantage point, was discreetly covering her mouth while the gleeful little lines around her eyes told the truth of her amusement.

Well, if her job with Stark ever fell through, she could make a killing in Asgard as the court jester.

Odin, politely ignoring the incident, had already started strolling away. Bea zipped after him. It took her a moment to realize that she was not the only one who had hurried after the Allfather. The two frowning councilors who had stood by Odin when Bea arrived were now flanking them, still dark, surly, and silent. The four of them soon reached a small chamber, still gilt and polished with enough shine to magnify a single candle's flame to the brilliance of the sun. Unlike the room where Bea had dined with Thor and his cohorts, this felt much more formal. Most likely it was a room for private official audiences. Private, but not casual.

Did these people ever just kick off their boots and dare to wear something comfortable?

They all gathered around a table, and though chairs were provided, the Allfather did not take a seat, so the rest of them remained standing as well. Because, of course, anything that might make such an awkward meeting more comfortable must be shunned.

On the bright side, if Bea felt the desperate need to run away, she wouldn't have to fool around with a chair.

"Bea Doedottir," Odin said.

The way the Allfather was using her name, it was like it was going out of style.

"I was made aware of the injustice done you by Loki upon my sons' return to Asgard." He motioned to the two grim observers. "I seek to make reparations in any way I can. These men are two of my oldest and best informed councilors. They have fought by my side in battle, and are among the few still alive to have first-hand knowledge of the Chronos. They are called Dahzbog and Aegir. I have requested that they share with you what they know of your people during your stay in Asgard. It is my hope that, though this will not undo what my son has wrought, it will strengthen your bonds of friendship and understanding with my people."

Bea's head was spinning with all the possibilities laid before her. How much did these men know? First-hand experience. Did that mean that they'd just seen Chronos in passing? That they knew they had weird hair? Did they know any Chronos personally? Did they know why Loki seemed so darn sure the rest of the Chronos were extinct? Did they know what she'd become?

Even as her head whirled with hopes and anticipation, doubt and fear grazed the inside of her stomach with razor blades. How different would she be? Was there any hope of her abnormalities fading? How accurate were Loki's claims?

Her mouth felt too stiff to move. Shakily, she licked her lips. "It is a hope that we both share, Allfather."

He nodded. "I am pleased."

After a quick look from their king, the two councilors also nodded. Bea couldn't help but feel they were less than enthused about the situation. Of course, she had yet to see them enthusiastic about anything.

Odin didn't leave her a lot of time to consider this quandary. "Now," he said, "it is time we addressed the demands of the organization you call 'shield'."

Amazing. Even at the other end of the universe, S.H.I.E.L.D. was still interrupting her life. But she'd been given a job, and she would do it, even if it was someone else's and her heart, gut and head were all set against it. "Prince Thor told me you already know of their request to send Loki to Earth?"

"I am well aware of their desires. But I am afraid it is impossible. Loki cannot leave Asgard until his sentence has been served."

In that moment, there were two Beas. One of them was jumping around, fist-pumping the air and screaming the "Hallelujah Chorus." The other was shriveling down to slug-size, wondering if it would be cowardly to just hide in Asgard while Earth was turned into fertilizer by the angry alien horde. Odin didn't want to share. That meant Bea didn't have to deal with the creep in the flesh. It also meant that she had to deal with Nick Fury while she waited to be eaten by a flying slug-whale-dinosaur from outer space. Yeah. She'd seen the footage. An army of those things? They were dead. They were all very, very dead. And Loki was Fury's last hope. It was a pretty sucky last hope, but it was better than no hope at all, which it looked like she got to carry back home with her.

Eventually, the shrinking Bea won out. "Just to clarify, Allfather," she squeaked, "I'm pretty sure Midgard is going to be pulverized. If we don't get Loki to give us some inside information… well, it's not going to be pretty."

"I understand." What sucked was that he really looked like he did. Bea wanted to accuse him of lying, but… he looked old. "However, there is nothing I can do to shorten Loki's punishment."

Having no idea what else to say – no idea how to argue with Odin freaking-Allfather – Bea clasped her hands and began a detailed study of her feet. "O-okay."

"It is possible," Odin continued, "that Loki may be able to aid you, and should his sentence end, I will gladly send him to Midgard, under Thor's governance, to aid you in the coming war. But the matter is out of my hands."

Trying to even her breathing, which had raced faster and faster as she considered the consequences of this decision, Bea smiled. "It's alright. We Midgardians are very… creative. I'm sure we'll think of something."

"I am certain you will."

**A/N: This chapter wasn't as long as I'd originally planned. But the next chapter should not only be very long, but very action-packed, so you have something to look forward to. It should be posted Friday evening. If not Friday, then Sunday night. **

**A note about updates: I work weekends (Sat and/or Sunday), and there is no internet at my workplace, so I am cut off from you all for 12-36 hours, depending on the week. This means that updates will happen Friday night, EXTREMELY early on Saturday, Sunday evening or sometime on Monday. Just FYI, so I don't get complains about my weird schedule. Everyone clear? Ok. On with the show.  
**

**Replies to Annons:  
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**Ana: Thank you so much! I hope that you get this far in the story, and that you're still enjoying it! Thanks again!  
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	15. In Which Bea Ponders Trees

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 15: In Which Bea Ponders Trees

Bea couldn't sleep. Not surprising since she was facing the end of the world.

True, she didn't trust S.H.I.E.L.D. as far as she could throw them, but she respected Nick Fury's grasp of tactics and cataclysmic disasters. The man had spearheaded the project that birthed the Avengers, after all, and that had been the only thing that stopped Loki and his army the last time around. If Director Fury said they needed Loki's intel, then Bea was pretty dang sure they needed that intel.

But the intel was in Loki's head, and Loki was in a tree, and Odin wasn't willing to turn lumber jack until his naughty boy had done his time.

So, yeah, end of the world. Bea expected explosions, fire, mass slaughter, and maybe a bit of slave labor on the side. This was an official mission, her _first_ mission, and she was failing so epically the only way she could make it more epic would be to take a swan dive off the shiny rainbow bridge outside. But Loki had already gone that route, and Bea preferred not to follow any paths her nemesis had already trod.

At least she was beginning to understand why he went crazy. Asgard was plenty shiny, but it was hard and sharp and just generally stiff. There was the norm and then there were ten million 'wrong' ways to do a thing. Bea hadn't learned how to follow the norm. She was very, very wrong in every way that mattered and quite a few that didn't.

She wanted to go home, let Tony tell her how much he'd missed her through his casual insults, and then eat a gallon of ice cream. Probably not in that order. By this time Clint had probably come up with at least six new 'missions of a devious nature'. Bea wanted start working on the piece she was painting for Pepper's birthday. And there was always her non-existent social life to consider. But, most of all, she wanted to get out from under the same roof as the trickster prince. It would be nice to know that, even if her mind was under assault, she had more than enough friends at hand to defend her physically.

She sat mulling over her thoughts, testing scenarios where she explained to Director Fury, her boss, and all her friends that they were going to die a nasty death along with the rest of the planet. Sometimes she envisioned beating around the bush, dodging the subject, telling them what wonderful new things she'd learned about her freakish super powers. That scenario always ended with Fury just flat-out demanding why Loki wasn't with her. Other times she imagined she was direct. Her declaration of doom was always followed by a stint of appropriately awkward silence, followed by a slightly less appropriate stint of awkward silence. She could just tell Fury in private, but after the pirate joke she wasn't sure he wouldn't take the opportunity to kill her without witnesses.

How long did she have to come up with a plan? Odin's two gifts of wisdom and insight into her biological heritage didn't seem pleased with their roles, and Bea didn't imagine it would take more than a day or two to bleed them dry of whatever they were willing to share. If that. It was entirely possible that they'd be done with her before the next evening, and then she would be out of excuses. She would have to go home. And explain.

It was dawn before she knew it. Loki had, for whatever reason, left her in peace through the entire night, and Bea dimly regretted not taking the opportunity to sleep. It would be rude to sleep during the day, and it was unlikely Loki would be so courteous two nights running.

A knock at the door interrupted her downward spiral of despair.

Before she could cross the room to open it, the surly serving woman bustled in, carrying several large books with gilt bookmarks jutting from their pages.

"These were sent by my lords Aegir and Dahzbog," the woman said. "Shall I leave them here for you?"

Bea, suddenly more alert, popped over to her side and happily snatched the tomes away. The serving woman looked surprised and slightly offended by what was probably a gross flaunting of basic manners. Bea couldn't care less. It was pretty tacky to just send an email when the arrangement had been for an interview, but since Bea wasn't all that interested in seeing the Misters Smiley face to face again – especially in private – she didn't take offense. She liked books. They made her happy.

"I've got them," she said. "It's fine. Thank you for bringing them."

The woman bobbed a little curtsey/bow/thing, and for the first time, Bea thought she saw something other than disapproval in her eyes. Bea had made no effort to hide her excitement, and the woman hesitated, looking at Bea as she held the books, thrumming with eager nerves. But when she realized Bea was watching her, she got a hold of herself, dropped another curtsey/bow/thing and darted away.

Once she was gone, Bea tossed the books on the bed and immediately felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. What was she doing? Did she really understand what she was leaping into by opening those covers?

There was no middle of the road here: this would either be a wonderful life changing experience, or a horrible life changing experience. One or the other. What she read would tell her if she really was fated to become the odd-monster-out like Loki, or whether she had some shot in the dark at continuing her life as an employee of Stark Industries, as a human. Monster or madwoman. Did she really want to know?

She wouldn't know if she wanted to know until she already knew. Classic Catch 22… or Lucas-esque script writing.

When she got home, everyone would ask what she'd learned about herself. She probably wouldn't even breach the awful subject of imminent apocalypse until she'd rehashed every last shred of history and genetics she'd picked up in Asgard. That alone was worth it.

And, hey, if she was gonna die in the next few months anyway, nothing she learned could hurt in the long run, because there would be no long run.

Finally decided, she grabbed the first book in the pile – an ancient dusty thing with yellowed pages barely clinging to the spine. It was filled with descriptions and analyses of all the creatures in the 'Nine Realms.' Bea scanned a few as she flipped through to the bookmarked page. There were pictures of elves, ogres, dwarves… it was an mmorpg player's dream come true. Bea wondered if there was a section on ugly ducklings. Soon, she had reached the marker, and, sure enough, the page was dedicated to the Chronos. It was written in a script similar to Norse runes. Thankfully, the angry men were clearly as excited about seeing her as she was about seeing them, so they had included a hand-written page of translations. Whichever one had written it had very good penmanship:

_Not a species of the Nine Realms, though they are often found among them, the Chronos are residents of a separate sphere of time. It is possible that they once lived in the recognized Realms, but the Chronos have resided in their own domain since time immemorial. Considering their abilities to bend time, however, this is perhaps a meaningless standard of measurement. _

_Though identical to Asgardian, Midgardian or Vanir offspring at birth, adult members of this race are clearly distinguished by colorless hair and yellow eyes. Such traits only manifest once complete development of a juvenile's powers has been achieved. Until that time, the children and youth of the Chronos may be recognized by their abilities and premature discoloration of the hair, such as that found among the aged of Midgard._

_The Chronos do not place strong value on a warrior's spirit, but this does not validate dismissal. With their ability to influence and alter time, a lone mature Chronos is more than a match for a strong contingent of warriors. Travelers should take care not to offend a Chronos, and warriors ought never engage a Chronos in direct battle. Their tactics are neither honorable nor defendable._

Well. That was encouraging. Apparently, she came from a race of sneaky backstabbers who lived in some timey-wimey wonderland. But it wasn't that horrible. It wasn't even as bad as learning the ugly bits of American history. 'Your ancestors did this horrible thing, that horrible thing, and you benefit from those actions in your daily life. Happy birthday.' And the physical characteristics weren't that surprising. She'd already seen them in the dreams Loki sent her. Doubtless the little brat had read these very same books when he was a precocious little princeling.

With that thought, she dropped the book back on the bed. Anything Loki had touched was too dirty for her dainty little hands.

And then she was interrupted for the second time that morning by a knock on the door. With a bounce, she was off the bed and on her way across the room. Since she hadn't bothered putting on shoes, her bare feet slapped a staccato patter on the cold floor.

Lying in bed studying, barefoot, someone trying to distract her… it was like college all over again.

Thor and his friends were waiting behind the door. College indeed. Complete with football jocks.

"Good morning, Lady Bea!" Volstagg boomed. "We have come to invite you to break your fast with us!"

Bea couldn't help smiling just a little bit. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest, thoroughly entertained by the big man's unbridled enthusiasm. "Sounds great," she said, "but, uh…" She gestured at her hair, still ruffled from her night of angsting. If ever she looked like an ugly duckling, it was then.

"I apologize," Thor said. Really, he didn't look apologetic in the least. "I thought you had already been attended to."

"Yeah, sort of." Bea nudged the door open a little wider and gestured the bed and the tower of books rising from the covers.

The playful light in Thor's eyes instantly puffed itself out. "From my father's councilors?"

"Yeah."

Behind their Prince, Sif and Fandral were trying to peer around Volstagg to see what was being discussed.

"Will you not be joining us, lady?" Fandral asked.

His tone was downright plaintive, and Bea felt like an awful guest for not socializing with her hosts, but… the books. They were calling to her like Failblog called to her when she was supposed to be working.

"I'd like to, but, I mean, these only just arrived, and…"

Thor lifted a hand. "Say no more. We understand."

"You do?"

The greatest thing about Thor was that he was so easy to read. His moods filled his eyes, and every shift of emotions passed over his face. Though the teasing twinkle had faded from them, his eyes were still soft, and his smile was as warm and sweet as hot chocolate in December. Yeah. He understood.

"I will send word for your meals to be brought to you while you study."

The rush of gratitude that crashed through her was unexpected. It was easy to classify Thor as the dumb brother. Of course, next to his devious sibling, most people looked dumb. But Thor had more brains than people gave him credit for, especially in the area of personal communication. He might not be the best at academics, but he was dang good at killing her anxiety with those smiles.

"Thanks." The word came gusting out with all the pent-up stress she'd been trying to hide, and it sounded much more tired than Bea had realized she'd become.

Another cozy warm smile and Thor said, "You are welcome," and then began ushering his vocally disappointed friends down the hall.

Bea quietly closed the door and then padded back to bed.

The second book was fatter and, though still old, a little newer than the first. The pages' grip wasn't as tenuous, and the cover had more legible characters… or at least, they would've been legible if Bea could read Asgardian. It didn't have the plethora of pictures the first book had boasted, and Bea couldn't figure out the subject at all until she reached the hand-copied translations in the bookmarked section. She latched onto them, eager for something more substantial than the last book had offered.

_Before the war with the frost giants, Odin Allfather called for a series of negotiations with King Laufey and his warriors. For reasons known only to themselves (claimed to be the prevention of bloodshed), the Chronos invited Odin and Laufey, each with a respectable count of warriors, to make peace in their realm. Not only would both parties be guaranteed neutral territory during negotiations, but they would also be provided with whatever time they required to reach an accord._

_The two kings and their warriors camped outside the walls of the Chronos' city, and each faction was provided with half a key which, when united, would open the city gates to them. These were given as an incentive to peace, as a promise of discourse and shared advances with the two parties should they come to an agreement. The Chronos believed that, unless negotiations concluded peacefully, the two sides would never unite the key, and therefore had no fear of the many warriors gathered outside their walls. However, in their arrogance, they underestimated the fear many in both camps held for the time walkers._

_King Laufey sent the Chronos in the city a great gift of wine, a sign of appreciation for their generosity, which the Chronos proceeded to consume with great enthusiasm. Hidden in the wine, however, was a strong sleeping draught, and that night, while the city slept, the frost giants, aided by unknown accomplices from the Asgardian camp, united the key and entered the city. They proceeded to kill all those who had taken the wine, being nearly all of the adult population. The few who had not partaken were killed individually, quietly, so that they did not know the knife was upon them until they were dead. Soon only the youths and children remained, and it took many days of hunting for Laufey and his kind to dispatch them. _

_Odin Allfather commanded his warriors to remain outside the city, even though the screams of the dying children could be heard even in the plain._

_Without the machinations of the Chronos, their city and its time crumbled, leaving the Asgardians and the frost giants scattered throughout the Nine Realms._

_Once their forces had been gathered and had ample time to recuperate, King Laufey took up the Casket of Ancient Winters and brought war to Midgard. In response, Odin Allfather summoned his warriors and…_

Bea clapped the book shut, holding it pressed between her hands in midair as she stared at the wall.

_What?_

Odin Allfather was the good guy. Why did he condone genocide through inaction? It didn't make sense. Bea felt like her worldview had just been pwned by random space debris.

The door cracked open, and a servant came in carrying a tray. They probably said something to her, but Bea didn't even register it. She was too busy staring at the wall and piecing her fractured brain back together. Likely put off by her stony silence, the servant must have left in a hurry, because when Bea finally focused back on the room, she was alone with the tray. She dumped the book and went to investigate the food, urged by the mutinous purr in her stomach, and was surprised to find the waiting porridgey-gook cold as the stone in her chest.

Maybe the servant walked out in a normal manner. She must have stared at the wall longer than she thought.

She looked back at the book and had to stifle a sudden spark of hate.

It was bad manners to throw things at the wall.

She knew she couldn't face Thor and his friends, at least not until the morning. Or until she'd thought through things for a solid week. Or month. Or year. A century might not be out of the question. She was even more grateful now that he'd offered to have her meals sent to her room. What would she say when he asked what she'd learned? "Lots of cool stuff! Did you know your dad left an entire race to be wiped out by the frost giants? Just parked his army outside the city and waited until the screaming stopped and entire dimension unraveled because there weren't any Chronos left to hold it together. Neat stuff."

That wouldn't end well. Heck, that wouldn't even start well.

Yet another knock ricocheted through the room, and Bea was surprised when a servant entered carrying the next meal. She really had been in La La Land for a while. Her stomach was accusing her throat of being slit, and Bea hurried over to enjoy the meal while it was still warm. It turned out to be bread, fruit and a slice of cold roast. So much for warmth. It was tasty, though, made all the tastier by the fact that she'd unintentionally fasted for almost a whole day.

A peek out the window confirmed the age of the day. It was already mid afternoon. The Asgardains, she'd found, liked large breakfasts, late lunches and dinner long after the sun had set.

For once she was happily considering going to bed early. Loki seemed like a multiple-choice exam compared to Thor – the ethics essay. She wasn't in the mood for discussing her findings, especially not at the dinner table, and definitely not before she'd pinned down her fluttering emotions. Ignoring a demon in her dreams was better than wrestling an army of Odin's skeletons back into the closet.

And she was so tired anyway…

The first sign that something was wrong was the heavy fog that settled in her head. She'd been awake for almost two days, so she didn't pay much attention to the sensation at first. The second sign was the sudden extinguishing of her room's lights. It startled her enough that she flopped out of bed and ran halfway to the door before she realized what she was doing. The first concrete thought to break through the haze was that Loki had been right. It was born of panic and instinctive fear of the dark, but the trickster's veiled threats had never felt so concrete. Something was definitely wrong. Asgard didn't seem like a place that suffered from a lot of blown transformers.

The only light came from the weak afternoon sun, which eked a dim glow through the curtains, leaving the room stifled by faint shapes and shadows. Something moved in the dark, and Bea grasped for the place in her mind that made her so special. It was still a hard thing to grasp, but she'd long since learned to beat back the panic to grapple with her own mind. With the dark and the silence it was hard to tell when time stopped, but she reached the door unmolested, and she soon felt the first inkling of a migraine pecking at the back of her brain. Her party trick was in action, and she had precious little time to get of the dark before it was over.

She grabbed the handle of the door and yanked. It didn't even rattle. She yanked again – several times – and the door gave no further sign of compliance. It dawned on her foggy brain that the door was locked, and she had to fight the urge to drop down and start looking for paper clips. There were no paper clips in Asgard, and even if there were, they would probably be about as useful as a chicken wire on a shark cage.

But she just couldn't force herself to think straight. She was feeling more than the effects of an all-nighter. There had been something unpleasant in her dinner. She was pretty sure of it by that point.

She lost her control of time with a slick shudder, and she only managed to land one heavy knock on the door before a hand tangled in her hair and tossed her back into the center of the room. Before she could regain her equilibrium, a fist cracked into her skull.

The blow sent her reeling sideways, clawing for balance while white fireworks bloomed across her vision. The shadows moved again, and she realized the first assailant had an accomplice. The second attacker threw his knee into Bea's gut, a hit that landed her flat on her back, and she lay there dazed, trying to suck in a breath. But the breath didn't come; the first man set his foot on her stomach to make sure of it. She was afraid she would throw up and choke on her own vomit in that position. Her stomach was already unhappy enough about her fancy little trick, but the abuse it was getting had brought her to the cusp of a violent bout of heaving.

And that was when Bea noticed the shiny knife in the other man's hand. The best alarm she could sound was a short squeaky wheeze, and since she could barely hear it herself, she was sure no one in the halls or neighboring rooms would be running to her rescue. She reached up to shove the boot off her gut, and it worked for a second, but then the other boot stomped down on her left wrist, pinning it between shoe and floor. This time she managed a short scream of pain, but a kick to the head ended that, and then the foot was forcing the air out of her lungs again.

The man with the knife was approaching.

How was she going to explain to Stark that she couldn't work for him anymore because she was dead? Would he blame himself for this? Probably. Egotistical moron assumed he was responsible for everything. Pepper wouldn't be getting that painting for her birthday. Clint would have to rig trip wires over Tony's door by himself. And he wouldn't get sparkly pants anymore from climbing around in the air ducts, because no one would be there to spread the glitter in all the dark places.

The man with the knife knelt down beside her, and the gleaming knife – the only thing Bea could see clearly in the gloom – was lowered to her throat.

"For the good of the Nine Realms."

She was going to die. Really going to die.

She didn't want to.

Her eyes watered, and Loki's warning came bouncing through her brain. It was a wicked case of 'I told you so'. She should've been more careful. Now she was going to die, and Earth's last hope would spend the next few centuries having nightmares about termites and axes.

She didn't want to see the end, so she closed her eyes. The teary water in her eyes was squeezed out from under her lashes, and little streams ran over her temples.

Light burst through Bea's eyelids, turning them a fiery orange.

The pressure on her wrist and stomach vanished, and a slew of manly war cries filled the room. Bea snapped into the fetal position, gasping and coughing, eyes still closed. The war cries abruptly shifted into screams, and then into silence. Something was definitely burning; Bea could smell the malodorous bite from smoking clothes and hair.

Aside from a weak sizzling noise, everything went silent, and Bea finally dared to open her eyes. She expected to see Thor standing by the open door, hammer raised, lightning fizzling away.

Loki was in her room, standing tall and proud, decked in full armor sans helmet, green magic crackling over a dagger held lightly in his right hand.

His grin was manic.

"I believe this," he said, voice dancing with glee, "is when Midgardian custom demands I say – I told you so."

**A/N: As promised - a new chapter! We are nearing the point where I do not have an actual plan for this fic. I'll keep writing, but things could become very interesting very quickly, and I can make no promises about chapter length. Whatever I can get out by my self-inflicted deadline is what I'll post. Currently this fic has 113 reviews. Someone please be kind and break the bad luck. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter!**

**_Reviews are love! Feed the muse! It poops fanfic! Leave a donation in the box below!_  
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	16. In Which Ducks Get Cuddles

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 16: In Which Ducks Get Cuddles

Bea immediately launched into full back-the-heck-away mode, which meant flailing around in her best impersonation of a drowning swimmer on dry land. Loki's crazed grin was still eating his face, and his eyes were lit. Stretching his arms above his head, he rolled his shoulders back, then slowly let his hands fall back to his sides in a languid sag. Sheer ecstasy danced over his face. It must have been cramped in that tree.

"Ah." It was half sigh, half laugh. "It has been too long, indeed." Breaking from his spell of indulgent yoga, he focused his attention on Bea, who was still busy trying to scramble _away_ from the crazy god of mischief with a penchant for duck-napping.

"Really now, Bea," he said, tone incredulously chastising, "you are not such a fool as to believe I would seek to harm you after redeeming you from these…" he curled his lip and toed one of the smoking bodies, "…relics."

Bea had finally reached the end of the road – a wall. She pressed back against it, hands flat on the floor, bare feet jammed against the cold floor. "I believe our history is complicated at best and a recipe for nuclear fission at worst," she said.

The fey grin spread just one impossible inch more, squinting Loki's eyes for the instant the stretch lasted. But even his face couldn't support a smile that wide for long. It collapsed back in on itself, and he canted his head to the side, giving it just the slightest shake. Bea had to struggle in order to maintain eye contact. Never look away when you're locked in with a tiger. She didn't even want to blink; she was afraid of what would happen in the split second her eyes were closed.

"You let your instincts rule your mind," he said. "You have been too long in the company of mortals." He took a step forward, and Bea surged to her feet, back still clapped to the wall. Warily, Loki raised his hands, but he didn't stop his approach. He continued the slow saunter of a confident game keeper approaching a wounded squirrel. "I am glad to see you here in Asgard, even if I have not been fortunate enough to keep you company during your stay in my home."

"Don't feel too bad," Bea said, aiming for cavalier. As she spoke she began sliding along the wall, sidling towards the door. "You did your best."

The twinkle was restored to Loki's eyes, and the wicked smile began to grow again. "Oh, make no mistake. I do not blame myself for this transgression. Better men than I must bear that burden."

At that moment they were interrupted by a pounding at the door.

"Bea Doe!" Thor's voice boomed. "I come bearing sustenance! The good people of the kitchens claimed my message did not reach them. I sent a servant, though I suppose he might have been waylaid by other duties."

At the sound of his brother's voice, Loki froze. His eyes fixed themselves to the door throughout Thor's little speech, but the moment it ended, they reverted to Bea. Bea's gaze followed a similar pattern, though for very different reasons.

"Bea?" Thor asked through the door, clearly bewildered. "Why do you not answer? Are you unwell?"

There was a moment of silent communication between the room's only breathing occupants. Loki's lips tightened in warning, and Bea's quirked up in defiance. No more closets for her. Before Loki could decide to take more aggressive action, Bea took the opportunity to scream for her life.

"THOR!"

Loki spit a curse, and on the other side of the door Thor's mood turned from befuddlement to alarm.

"Bea?" He struck the door again, this time with intent to damage. "Bea! Stand clear of the door!"

Distracted by the noisy heroics, Bea didn't notice the Tall Immediate Threat slipping up behind her until he had his arm around her throat.

She gurgled.

"I AM COMING, BEA DOE!"

The door began to shudder with each mighty bang, and Loki used his free hand to grab one of Bea's flailing arms by the wrist. He wasn't going to teleport somewhere, was he?

Oh, dang. Thor needed to break down that door _yesterday_.

At least, judging by the squawk and squabble of voices on the other side, the great prince wasn't alone. Reinforcements were good. A first wave of attack would be better.

With a last groan, the door snapped off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Thor, followed by Sif and the Warriors Three, charged in. Of course, their epic charge came to an equally epic halt when they saw who was in the room with the distressed damsel. The look that crossed Thor's face was amazing. Bea would describe it as ecstatic panic.

"Loki!" It started as a exclamation, morphed into a warning and then petered out to a quiet death as a question. Thor never struck her as the expressive one. She might have to revise that view.

"Odinson," Loki said, his voice as tight and stiff as his arms.

"Loki." This time the warning hung on til the end. Just to add a little emphasis, Thor started to lift his hammer, realized he wasn't carrying it, and wound up threatening his reprobate sibling with a great big finger. The gesture lost some of its punch. "I know not how you came to be liberated from your confinement, but attacking a guest, a _friend_, is beneath you."

Fandral chose that moment to tug on Thor's sleeve and point out the crispy bodies warming the floor. That was all it took to trigger Thor's temper.

Gone was the bear tiptoeing through an emotional minefield. Come was the god of the thunder and butt-whooping. "You escape from an endless curse, and your first act as a free man is to commit murder?"

With all the static flying around the room, Bea was amazed her hair was not standing on end.

Loki laughed – loudly – right in her ear. If Thor's level of emotional complexity seemed elevated that evening, Loki's was multiplied by a baker's dozen. "Such a fool," he said. "You are chosen to be a king, yet you cannot even see what is before you. Are you really so upset that I killed those snakes?"

Muscles rippled and snapped along Thor's neck, and Bea assumed he was grinding his teeth, because he was doing something really awkward with his jaw.

Pleased at the way his barbs caught, Loki cheerfully dropped the other shoe. "Are you so sad that I protected your precious _guest_?"

"Protected?" Thor's jaw went slack. His mouth didn't fall open, but all the tension mysteriously disappeared. In a moment it was back, but clearly he'd been caught flatfooted by this development. "Bea." His big blue eyes – princely, intense, earnest… kinda like a golden retriever's – zeroed in on her face. "Is this true?"

Loki slackened his grip around her neck for the moment, thought it was nowhere near tight enough to cut off her voice in the first place. Bea appreciated the courtesy, as unnecessary as it was.

"Yes," she said, doing her best not croak like a frog facing a stork. "Yes, he did."

Now Thor and Company just looked confused. The accusing finger of mother-dom dropped lifelessly to his side, and all the mettle vanished from his expression. Golden retriever. All the way.

"I do not understand."

"And this surprises you?" Loki asked.

The familiar snark seemed to put a little sturdiness back in Thor's spine, but he still looked unbalanced, like someone had just told him he was a girl.

"Brother. Explain." He was so helpless. It was almost adorable. Except, he was supposed to be rescuing her, so, in that light, it wasn't so adorable at all.

"Odin's gift of knowledge had unanticipated consequences," Loki said. "He underestimated the hate buried by centuries of peace in the hearts of his old comrades. It was a fool's error." The arm tightened again. "The last of the Chronos was almost killed for it."

"Then I owe you thanks, brother," Thor said, all traces of combat readiness gone. "Without your intervention we may have had the blood of an honored guest on our hands."

"Yes," Loki said, "you most assuredly would have."

"Be that as it may," Sif said, clearly ready for a tussle, regardless of her prince's brotherly compulsions, "we must demand that you release Bea Doedottir." There wasn't much soft about Sif, but in comparison to her present attitude, her previous behavior seemed gentle. Was this what she was like when she was mad?

His friend's aggression seemed to wake Thor from his happy fantasy land of brotherly love, and he stiffened, remembering the threat to his 'honored guest.'

"I'm afraid I must agree with Sif, brother," he said. "Set Bea free. Then we may discuss how you escaped from your prison…"

With a snort, Loki let go. But before Bea could dart to safety, he gave her a firm shove in the right direction. A firm shove from an Asgardian was like a hit-and-run accident with a mo-ped. Not necessarily deadly, but there was a serious bit of force involved. It sent Bea careening in a helpless, stumbling run, trying to keep up with her sudden momentum. She was stopped by something soft. Something soft with arms, because the something caught her when she crashed into it. Craning her head back, she found herself looking up at Volstagg's worried face. For the first time in the past half hour, she found herself smiling. But, with the adrenaline fading, her migraine decided to make its presence felt, and she almost collapsed from the heavy pulsing behind her eyes.

"Here stand I," Loki said, spreading his arms, "in the heart of the Allfather's domain. His power here is absolute." Scoffing, he relaxed into a neutral stance. "What did you think I had planned? To toss her over Sliepnir's saddle and gallop away down the Bifrost? Truly, _brother_, your distrust must have grown roots through your dreams in order to conjure such fancies."

Thor flushed. Loki scoffed. It was like the good old times.

A fresh stab from the migraine scraped its way down her spinal column, sending nauseating shocks to her belly. All she wanted was a quiet place to puke, and then an even quieter place to sleep. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, but, Thor? I pulled my special stunt earlier, and now my brain is trying to cook itself. Is there somewhere I can go lie down?"

"Let me help you to your bed," he said, immediately striding to her side.

"Thor, seriously, I don't know if you've noticed, but there are dead guys on my floor." Everyone looked at the fried killers still smoking on the marble. They smelled really funny. "It's a great room, but, yeah, I prefer my men medium rare."

"She may use my chambers," Sif offered. "I doubt the rest of us will be sleeping much this night." She sent a meaningful look at Loki, who was standing off to the side being vaguely threatening.

Bea, growing queasier and limper by the second couldn't bring herself to care. Not that she would be the lazy-butt sleeping while Thor and Company solved all of Asgard's problems. Not that Loki had emerged from his tree and was back to making her life complicated. Just… bed. She needed bed. Thor seemed to pick up on this and swept in to the rescue. Before she'd quite realized what was going on, he picked her up in his ridiculously burly arms and carted her off after Sif, who was leading the way to her room.

Bea wasn't used to feeling so tall. Or being carried. It was kind of awkward. But nice. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and tried not to giggle as the servants in the hallways yelped and scattered at the sight of Loki freed.

.O.O.O.

She didn't remember making it to Sif's room, or being settled in bed. The first thing she was aware of was waking up. The second thing she was aware of was that Sif was an incredibly tidy woman. There was no clutter _anywhere_. No clothes, no books, no knick-knacks, nothing – just an array of highly polished weapons hanging on the wall. It was impressive and scary. Rather like Sif, actually.

"You're awake."

Speak of the devil. She was standing by the door, probably just returned from dealing with the Tricky-Issue.

Bea sat up a little too quickly, very aware that she was invading someone else's bed, and they hadn't even had dinner first. But her head, still recovering from the aftereffects of stopping time, was not up to the motion, and Bea fell back in the pillows like a brick. "Sorry," she said. "Yeah, I'm up."

"You will be soon," Sif said, giving her hand an awkward pat as she settled at the side of the bed.

Fighting her way (slowly) back into a sitting position, Bea began her inquisition. "So… what's going on out there?"

"Loki and Thor are presently sequestered with the Allfather in his private audience chamber."

"And how long has that been going on?"

"Some hours, I believe."

"Oh."

Bea glanced at the curtains. She meant to glance out the window to get an idea of the time, but the curtains just happened to be in the way.

"It is nearly morning," Sif said.

"_Oh_."

If she hadn't felt rotten before, she definitely did now. Poor Sif. She didn't get to sleep a wink, all the while knowing that a stranger was catching some z's in her bed.

"I'm so sorry for," she glanced around the bed, offering a weak shrug, "being useless, I guess."

"Nonsense," Sif said, her voice crisp with authority. "We may not do battle in the same way, Doedottir, but I do not doubt the effort you put forth in your own defense. All warriors must rest after their work is done."

A warrior? Sif thought of her as a warrior? Well, that was kind of flattering. And kind of awful. Bea couldn't hurt anything bigger than a spider. Not that she'd tried to. The only person she'd even fantasized about mauling had bad manners and was named Loki.

"Thanks."

Sif nodded. It was a comradely motion, something she might give one of the Warriors Three.

There was a knock at the door, and Hogan called from the other side. "Odin Allfather requests an audience with Bea Doedottir."

"Ack." Bea closed her eyes and crushed the palm of her hand against her temple. "More stress."

"All will be well," Sif said. She rose from the bed, brushing imaginary wrinkles from the leather she was fond of. Then she held out a hand. "Come."

Something about Asgard made Bea really hate getting up in the morning.

**A/N: Sorry that this chapter is so short. I actually aimed to get through all of the Asgard stuff today, but then I went to a convention this weekend with my mom, so the chapter ended up a little shorter than expected. The next one should hopefully be a little longer.**

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	17. In Which Bombs Keep Dropping

**Disclaimer: me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 17: In Which Bombs Keep Falling

Sometimes the third time was the charm. And sometimes the King of Asgard was just as intimidating the third time round as the first two times Bea hadd spoken with him. Armor. Eye patch… armored eye patch…Oh, man, Tony was going to die when she told him. Every realm, apparently, needed a daddy-figure with a missing eye to keep things running smoothly.

It was easy to distract herself, even though she recognized on some level that that was what she was doing. The snarkiness had always been a security blanket, but over the past several years (what with the alien invasion, time-bending, and borderline maniacal boss) it had become her constant companion. The first thing out of her mouth was sarcasm. The last thing out of her mouth was sarcasm. Usually the stuff in the middle was sarcasm, too.

She'd almost been killed a few hours ago – almost been killed right after learning that bright and shiny Asgard wasn't as bright and shiny as it liked to pretend. But all she could think of were Peking duck jokes.

Odin was trying to give her a formal apology. Thor was standing beside her. She and the Allfather were sitting down. None of them were comfortable.

"…that such an attack could be committed in my own palace, and by councilors I arranged myself as a gesture of peace… There are no words to express my regret…"

"It must be hard, I know. It's fine. First time you've had to actually apologize to a Chronos, right?" Bea didn't quite register that the words were leaving her mouth until they were out.

Odin tensed, and his shiny pauldrons rose as he took a deep breath. For a minute, Bea tensed, too. She might as well have thrown a punch at him. Whatever political accord they'd struck up was shattered. He might retain his dignity and continue to treat her with the goodwill and generosity due an inter-galactic guest, but he wouldn't be able to look at her the same way again. She was no longer the malleable newborn. She was her own force, and he'd lost his chance to shape her. Giving her access to her own history had been a gamble. He hadn't won. Well, who cared? She forced herself to relax. Odin had made his bed and now he would have to lie in it. Not her fault. Not her problem.

Thor was looking between his friend and father, confused, concerned, probably wishing he knew what was going on so he could hit the appropriate villain. Maybe she should explain Daddy Dearest's silent compliance with genocide.

"It is true," he said. His tone was firm, and he was picking his words carefully, as a ruler should, but the voice behind them was weak. Bea could hear the age in it. "I do not regret that I protected the peace of this realm."

Bea snapped in a quick suck of air, and was surprised to feel how rigid her back had gone and how her hands were trembling on the armrests.

Odin continued before she could do or say anything stupid. "I do regret the annihilation of the Chronos. Many innocents died that night."

To stop her shaking, Bea grabbed onto the armrests. She canted her head, incredulousness oozing. "You regret it? You had days, Allfather, _days_. Where was your regret, then?"

"In all truth," Odin said, showing a smidgeon of genuine remorse, "I had more than days to renege on my decision to remain outside the city."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because the reasons I had to abstain from the fighting were still true," he said. Most of the strength was back in his voice. It was a well-rehearsed speech, or he was starting to convince himself of his own innocence.

"Father." Thor sounded a little heartbroken. Poor kid. He just couldn't trust anyone in his family, could he? "Of what does Bea speak?"

"She speaks of things long past," Odin said.

Bea snorted.

Odin gave her his first severe look, and it was enough to scare her into silence while he made his excuses to his son. "Long before your birth, the frost giants and the folk of Asgard met for a parley in the Realm Between Realms, where the Chronos had made their home."

"Yes," Thor said. "I have read of it." Bea looked up at him, confused, and he met her look with equal bafflement. "How is my father to blame for that massacre? He and his troops had already returned to Asgard when the frost giants attacked the city."

Bea squinted. "I don't think we ready the same book."

"No," Odin said, "I am certain you did not. The oldest books of history tell the story truly. I fear that in the years since many have chosen to forget our decision."

"I can't imagine why they'd want to do that."

Odin closed his eyes, and for the second time in a minute, Bea decided to shut-up. She wondered how long the decision would last this time.

"Father," Thor said. "Please. Explain this to me."

The answer sounded like it was being torn from the Allfather's gut. "We had not left our camp outside the city. When the frost giants attacked, we were still waiting there at full strength. Some men from our camp stole the half of the key left in my charge, possibly Dahzbog and Aegir, the two men responsible for tonight's crimes. I ordered the Aesir to remain outside the city walls."

There wasn't even a beat of silence. The prince ploughed on with his demand for clarity like a bull through the Library Congress, uncaring what relics it was upsetting. Did Odin qualify as a relic?

"And what reasons," Thor sounded like he might throw up, "could have led you to make such a decision?"

"The Chronos were not supreme beings. They were as we are – fallible, prone to weakness and error. The good chose to live comfortable lives out of the path of history. Others played with the fates of creatures they deemed lesser than themselves. Some of their evil we will never know. Much of the good that could have been will forever remain in the realm of possibility."

"So for the actions of a few you condemned an entire race?" Thor asked.

"I chose not to intervene."

"Sorry to break it to you," Bea said, "but that's the same thing."

Odin offered what might have been a helpless shrug from anyone else. But Odin was like Chuck Norris. He wasn't helpless. Ever.

"It is the past, and I have no power to change it."

Bea glanced at Thor and found him blinking his eyes suspiciously fast. Wow. Maybe she should've suggested he wait outside for this conversation. Would he have listened, though? Maybe so, maybe no. It was in the past. Someday, that might not be such a big deal for her.

"Though I fear I have fallen too far in your regard to ever redeem myself…"

With a mighty roll of her eyes, Bea crossed her arms and turned her attention to the ridiculously shiny ceiling.

"…I feel I should tell you that I have already been forgiven by your people."

Arms uncrossed themselves. Eyes dropped from the ceiling. "Did you hire a medium? Because I think we've established that the rest of the Chronos are dead. Or is this some weird time travel thing that will fry my brain."

"Neither," Odin said. His kingly authority was reasserting itself now that he was once again holding all the cards. "Have you not wondered how you were spared from the massacre? How you came to reside in Midgard?"

Bea's spine straightened, and she felt like E.T., head bobbing and swaying as it gradually disconnected from her body. It was a flight position. She could smell the bomb coming. Heck, she could practically hear the whistle.

"There was a man. Alone. Unarmed. Bloody from his wounds. He revealed himself to Heimdall centuries after the destruction of the Chronos, long after their extinction had become fact in our histories. I was summoned to the Bifrost, and together, Heimdall and I greeted this single survivor. His injuries were fresh. Skin was blackened from the grip of a frost giant. Open cuts marred his flesh. And in his arms was a very small child. He said that he was a sorcerer. Powerful, even among the Chronos. He had been drunk with wine when the frost giants attacked, and he barely escaped with his life… and the child's. He said he could not father the infant, and that she needed better care than he – a lone refugee – could provide. And, what was more, he said, we owed his people that much – to care for the last heir of the Chronos. So he gave over the child to our care, and then he departed as suddenly as he had come. After some hours of debate, Heimdall and I sent the child to Midgard, where she could grow to maturity free of the suspicion and hatred that we feared was still buried in Asgard. Had I known how hot those fires still burned, I would never have asked you to return."

She felt her head hit the back of the chair, but she was too busy with its overflowing contents to worry about something to petty as a concussion. It made sense. And there was no reason for Odin to lie. Not anymore. Not after everything he'd already admitted to.

"I'm not sure I know how to reply to that," she said.

"It was a difficult decision," Odin confessed, "but I already had two grown sons to manage, and life as the last Chronos in Asgard would have been a life of dire scrutiny and terrible loneliness. We chose the best of our options."

Bea groaned and tried to shove her eyes through the back of her skull with the base of her palms. It was just too freaking much. She could have been a sort of princess. Could have grown up with Thor and Loki as her big brothers… maybe more like uncles… they were old enough. She could have lived her whole life in this hard, shiny world.

She just couldn't imagine it.

No pizza, no fuzzy slippers, no Tony, no Pepper, no finger painting.

"I ask that you consider all of this carefully before making any decisions regarding your standing with Asgard," Odin said. "All that I have told you is the truth. I have not made it fouler or fairer than what it is. Grant to us the same opportunity your elder granted to you: a chance to grow and demonstrate your ability."

That was all it took to push her from confusion to defensive anger. She'd been flirting with the border since she first sat down.

"I don't even know what _I_ am yet, and so far you've done a marvelous job leaving out the inconvenient details. Now you say you're being honest, but, I'm sorry, my head is spinning too fast to find a polygraph machine." Thor, obviously, did not get this reference. Odin might not have, either, but his kingly poker face remained un-cracked.

"Maybe someday we can be the great allies you want us to be. But right now my allegiance is undecided. Thor's my friend. I've got his back if he needs me – though I seriously doubt he ever will. Apart from that," she shrugged, "we'll just have to wait and see. I'm not promising anything. Not anymore. Not to you."

Once she'd finished spitting out her decision, she rose from the table and hurried out of the room. She'd like to say she stormed out, but it was more of an escape than a statement. She was down the hall and around the corner before she realized she had no idea where she was going, and that Thor was strolling along at her heels. It meant a lot that he'd chosen to follow after her, mindlessly wandering the palace, instead of staying to do battle with his dad. But the decision can't sit easy with him. His silence tells that story.

But she was desperate to break it. Silence let her think too much. "So how did Loki get out?"

"Someone must have found some sympathy for his plight," Thor said.

Several servants pass, and in the next passage is a gaggle of golden-haired goddesses… literally. Bea (almost) subconsciously decides to try another route. There were too many pretty people in Asgard, and she didn't have the patience for that sort of crap just then.

"You mean someone busted him out of jail? That's dramatic."

Thor finally stopped tailing and started keeping pace with her. It wasn't like it was difficult for him. His legs were almost as long as she was tall.

"That is not quite what I meant. Perhaps I should explain the nature of Loki's imprisonment."

"Please do."

"It was an enchantment."

"And here I thought it was CGI."

Thor looked quizzical. "Is that Earthly magic?"

"Almost. You were saying?"

"Loki was bound to the tree through a very old enchantment woven by the Allfather himself. In order to regain his freedom, a tear had to be shed for his fate."

Bea's feet stopped working and she came to an abrupt halt. Thor marched on a few steps before he realized she wasn't keeping up. "A tear? Are you serious?"

"Yes." He seemed a little confused by her reaction, and he tried to clarify. "It is old magic, as I said, and difficult if not impossible to undo unless the conditions are met. Loki did not free himself. He was freed by another."

"Someone who cried for him."

"That is correct."

Bea felt her headache – banished by sleep – gaining new life. First Odin continued to complicate her early history. Now she was complicating her present. Where was Tony and his bar when she needed them?

"Do you have something strong?" she asked. "And I don't mean, like, muscle-y guys. I mean to drink. Something that will make me forget the day, month, year and planet."

The look Thor gave her was the most sympathetic and understanding glance he and Bea had ever shared.

"Of course."

.O.O.O.

Thor delivered, and for a few hours Bea really did forget the day, month, year and planet. But then she woke up, and her migraine woke up with her. She clapped her arm over her eyes and wondered if the sun would just die with enough wishing.

She was back in her room. Her room where two men had tried to kill her and Loki had suddenly popped out of the ether. Maybe it was a good thing she'd been drunk. That was the only way she could've slept in that room.

But she had more pressing matters. The sun. The sun meant it was daytime, and that meant she could go home. And she really needed to go home. She'd learned more than she'd expected or needed about her past. She'd gotten Odin's agreement that if Loki's sentence ended that Earth could have him… and then she ended his sentence. Go her.

It was time to go.

She pulled the heavy (gold) covers aside and swung her legs out of bed. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd worn the day before. Her feet were still bare. Still? Or had she been wearing shoes? Had she been wearing shoes when she went to the audience with Odin? She couldn't remember. Her eyes fixed on the floor – all clean and sparkly now – and her thoughts broke loose. _Loki_. The idea was more than a distant threat now, more than an unlikely nightmare. Telling the Avengers to batter down the hatches and defend Earth on their own would have been preferable. Definitely would have been. Several shared her opinion that Loki could be useful, but might not be vital in the grand scheme of things. They didn't need him. They'd defeated him. What was one more alien invasion? Now he was coming back to Earth, back home, and Bea wasn't sure how she would avoid him during his stay. Would he be leashed to Thor? Would S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff him in a box and ask questions through a peephole? And there was still the stone to consider. If they ended up on the same planet, let alone the same building, Bea had no doubt that the trickster would be able to pinpoint her exact location effortlessly. Would he be able to do his little teleporting trick again, or was that a one time, just-escaped-from-a-tree special?

If it weren't for all the homicidal demi-gods she'd be tempted to stay on Asgard.

As she packed (not that there was much to pack) she tried to figure out how long it would be before Thor joined them on Earth. There was no way he could just pop off and go with her now, especially not with Loki in tow. S.H.I.E.L.D. would need some official warning so they could plot, Thor had responsibilities to tie up in Asgard, and Loki doubtlessly came with a few tons of red tape to cut. Or rather, since it was Asgardian, gold tape.

Her things were all stuffed in the backpack. Afraid to launch an official offensive against the door, Bea tugged the shiny covers up, patting them smooth and pulling the edges even. She fetched the lovely painful dress Frigga had let her borrow from the closet and laid it out on the bed. It looked nice there. Nicer than it had on her. It wasn't her style, even though it had tried its darnedest to remake her in its own image.

Now there was really nothing left to do. She wasn't hungry. She was dressed. She was packed. She'd put her room in order. It was time to go.

So she did.

Her angry servant was coming the other way down the hall, and Bea stopped just long enough to leave word that she was, well, leaving.

"Thank you for…everything," she said, rubbing the shoulder strap of her backpack. "It can't have been easy to put up with a weirdo like me, but I appreciate the effort."

The woman didn't even blink. She just stood there, staring at Bea, a tray bearing what Bea assumed was going to be her breakfast in her hands.

Some silences were just born awkward. "So, um, yeah. That's it. I'm going home. If you would do me one last favor and tell… someone… everyone… whichever… that I've left, I'd appreciate it." The woman nodded. "Great. Well… thanks then." And Bea stepped off down the hall.

If she thought the looks she'd gotten on the way into the city were odd, the looks she got as she trudged out were bizarre. Bea had never been a very fast walker, and that gave the onlookers plenty of time to stare at the strange girl with the funny hair in the weird clothes. She was just a walking bundle of abnormalities. And she was dangerous, too. How many of those men were wondering how quickly they could draw their swords? How many of the women holding the hands of their children were wishing the two assassins had acted with greater haste?

Bea's eyes went to the ground, and she moved quickly through the streets. People tended to make room for her, so that was convenient. The city was still beautiful, but it had gained too many unpleasant associations in her mind. She doubted she would ever come back. Not unless the world was ending, so there was always a possibility.

As angst-ridden as she was, she couldn't help enjoying the Bifrost. Each step made a funny little ring, like she was walking along a series of xylophones. She grinned, indulging in a skip or two as she made the long march to the observatory.

Heimdall gave no indication that he'd been watching her approach when she finally arrived, but Bea would've been surprised if he hadn't. She sort of drew attention to herself – like a penguin in the Everglades. Some things just did not fit.

"Bea Doedottir," Heimdall said by way of greeting. "Why did you not take leave of the princes? The servant has carried word of your departure. Prince Thor is vexed by your flight."

"I can apologize later," Bea said. "I just want to go home."

Although his expression didn't change, something in the atmosphere shifted, and Bea could taste the salty tang of disapproval.

"Look," she said, "I'm not a princess. I'm not a lady. I'm not a statesman. I'm just tired. I'm weak. I'm not like you, and after some of the things I've been learning about this place, I'm not too sad about that."

"The Allfather decided that you were best left to grow to maturity under your own power," Heimdall said. "Do you disagree with his decision?"

"Let's just say that his choice to drop me in the foster system isn't the one I'm most upset about."

"You speak of his passivity while the Chronos were destroyed."

"How'd you guess?"

Heimdall blinked. It seemed like a momentous event. "There is no decree to prevent your leaving. If you wish, I will open the Bifrost for you, so that you may return to Midgard."

At least she wouldn't have to just sit there like a naughty child until someone came to make her say her proper farewells. "Thank you."

He hefted his great sword and went inside. Bea followed him, but she had barely cleared the door when she heard the ringing noise of horse hooves clanging down the Rainbow Bridge. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw not one, but two riders rushing towards her. One was big and blonde. One was dark haired and skinny. Oh, heck. She hurried the rest of the way inside.

"Any chance we could start this thing any faster?" she asked.

But Heimdall didn't do anything quickly, and by the time he'd turned his head to look at her, the horses outside had stopped, and Thor's melodious bellow came reverberating through the observatory.

"Heimdall! Wait! Do not open the bridge."

The gate keeper blinked again – a slow motion saturated with power. "It seems that there is a decree against your passage."

The two princes burst into the chamber, and Bea tried to restrain her explosion to a small nuclear event.

"Seriously? Dang it, Thor!"

He came straight up to her and took her by the shoulders. He pinned her with those big blue eyes, looking more puppy-like than ever, and Bea felt an irritating tingle of regret. It was only irritating, though. She didn't let it get to her.

"Bea," he said, sounding like a little boy denied his birthday presents, "why did you not bid us farewell? Sif and the Warriors Three were very saddened by your departure."

Sif? Saddened? Unlikely. Angry, maybe. The Warriors Three might actually be a bit put out.

"I'm sorry, I just…" Her eyes tracked over his shoulder and found Loki. Even though he was waiting patiently at a respectful distance, he made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She had to forcibly jerk eyes back to Thor. "I just need to go home. I need to update everyone on the situation with your brother. I guess we're supposed to be expecting you both, right?"

"Of course," Thor said, voice turning gentle. He could tell that she was leaving out a pile of reasons the size of Kilimanjaro. "But I still wish to see you off. You are my friend and ally, Bea Doe, no matter what my father…"

Awkwardness was just becoming a regular part of life. Bea grabbed Thor's elbows in a reassuring (and mildly ridiculous) grasp. "I know. You're my friend, too. I hope you come to Earth soon. The gang misses you."

Thor smiled. "And I them. Take care, Bea."

She turned to leave – again – but Thor – again – stopped her. "My brother requested a word with you before you leave."

"A word? How about 'bye'?" She leaned back to see around the god of thunder and waved to his evil brother. "Bye!" She looked back at Thor. "That good enough?"

"Bea, please." And the pleading was back. So were the puppy eyes. Crap. "I know that he has done much wrong, but he has paid for those crimes, and he is now free among the Aesir once more. I hope that he may someday be free in mind as well. Will you not speak with him – for me?"

Crap. Poop. Moldy fruitcake. She'd get even with him for this.

"Fine."

Thor's face lit up. Bea was quick to hold up a finger. "But just a little. He's kinda one of the biggest reasons I want to leave, you know."

"I know. Thank you."

"Oh, shut-up."

She trudged over to the smirking prince with all the enthusiasm of a boy at the seventh-grade dance. Cooties. Evil cooties. Gross.

"What?"

"Oh," Loki's eyes shone, "I merely desired to wish you well upon your return to Midgard."

"Bull-oney."

He quirked a brow. "You believe I lie?"

"Again, you are the god of what exactly?"

"Fine. Then I confess," he leaned close, and Bea took an obvious step back, "I wish to thank you for your generosity."

Bea felt her eyes grow to owl-like proportions. How did he know? Was it an automatic thing, like the store name on a receipt?

"I did not tell the Allfather whose tear it was that set me free," Loki said, examining the cuff of his sleeve.

Bea's blood froze. But it also boiled. She hated him, and she was afraid of him, and all the intensity of those two conjoined feelings was fizzling the life out of her.

"I would never have assumed such a thing of you. If only I had known what sentimentality you possessed – to weep for your self-appointed enemy – I might have made use of such a weakness upon our first acquaintance."

Threats. Vague half-threats, or at least threatening insinuations, but still threats. He was openly confessing his attempts to manipulate her. It was a change of tactic. At least he had dropped the whole 'I am your friend' charade.

She didn't take her eyes off the Bifrost, visible through the open doorway, as she answered. "What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. It could mean any number of things. What might you imagine, my dear?"

"I imagine lots of things. Like beheading you with a rusty can opener, for example."

"Ooo." Loki puckered his face around the sound, and gave her an appreciative glance. "How inventive of you. Do share how the mechanics of such a process would resolve themselves."

"There would be tiny blades with a lot of pain and probably a few buckets of blood." Bea shrugged. "I'll figure it out as I go."

"Such confidence."

"Such ego. Are we done? I said 'a word.' I think we've had more than a word now."

"You know better than that, Bea. We're far from 'done'."

"You're right," Bea said, enjoying the way his head canted to the side. "I haven't killed you yet."

She ignored him as she headed back towards the portal. Satisfied that there were no longer any restrictions banning Bea's travel, Heimdall plunged his mighty weapon into what Bea considered the keyhole of the universe, and the psychedelic wormhole opened in front of her. After that, the world disintegrated into color and sound.

**A/N: Happy belated Turkey Day! I hope none of you were trampled to death this Black Friday. The last arc of the story begins in the next chapter!**

**Please review! I will keep updating on schedule, but the length of the chapter (how much time I dedicate to this project instead of others) depends in part on the fact that I still know I have an audience. Thanks to **all** repeat**reviewers!

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**


	18. In Which Ducks Fly

**Disclaimer: Me no own and you no sue, dooda, dooda...**

Chapter 18: In Which Ducks Fly

Loki never thought he would travel via the Bifrost again. When he fell from its shattered edge, he'd expected to die, or at least pass beyond any place from which he might return. When the Chitauri found him, he expected to die. When he led the attack on Midgard, he expected to rule there. When Thor dragged him back to his old stomping grounds with the power of the Tesseract, he expected to rot away in that accursed tree forever.

The crushing light and rushing noise was just as he remembered it. Exhilarating, terrifying. A kiss of power beyond imagination. The sort of magic that could bridge worlds was mighty, indeed. His own secret ways were quiet – mere echoes of the Bifrost's might – little tears in nature's weave.

He had missed this.

In a blink, they were on Midgard, standing in the park where Thor had launched them back to Asgard after Loki's failed gamble for his own realm. There were so many factors he had not known. So many players he had underestimated. It was no wonder he had failed. But, in his own defense, he had still been addled by the Chitauri's tortures, his mind weakened from months of pain. But no longer. His faculties were sharp once more, and he would not allow his brother and his mortal friends to make such a fool of him ever again.

They would have no opportunity, anyway. What use was a realm? Perhaps he was unready for it. There was a greater matter – or two – that needed tending first.

Speaking of the mortal friends, two stood before them. Only two, and both in 'street' clothes. Loki had been expecting the full army of Avengers to welcome their nemesis home, but perhaps he needed to try harder to get their attention. Should he have leveled a country instead of a mere city?

The two waiting were the Captain and the monster. Loki batted away the urge to roll his shoulders. Memories of the monster's brutality were almost physically painful. It was a beating his body would not soon forget, which, he had to grudgingly admit, was an impressive feat for a mortal.

Thor stepped forward, shining grin spreading over his face. "My friends!"

"Welcome back, Thor," the Captain said. "It's been a while."

"Too long," Thor agreed. Glancing around the park, he asked, "Where are the others? Are they unwell?"

"Natasha and Clint are both on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D.," the monster said, stooped in his human form, hands in his pockets, pronouncing each word like an apology. "Fury begged. It was almost cute."

"Tony is rounding up a group of thieves who stole some of his weapons," said the Captain. "They're trying to take an office building downtown and turn it into a separate nation."

"How ambitious," Thor said, appreciation and amusement blending in his tone.

"I'd choose 'stupid,'" the monster, Banner, said with a shrug.

"And Bea?" Thor asked. "I thought she might not choose to be here, but I had hoped…"

They all glanced at Loki, the elephant in the room, and then unanimously agreed to look elsewhere.

"Bea's with Tony, actually," Banner said. "He's training her to be part of the team or something. Or at least competent enough to keep out of locked closets during the next crisis."

Six eyes turned on Loki again, and this time they were considerably less apologetic.

The Captain cleared his throat. It was almost apologetic, but not quite. At least it was polite. "We should probably head back to the tower. We can follow Tony and Bea better there on the comms."

"Of course," Thor said. "Lead on, my friend."

.O.O.O.

The tower, once Stark Tower from whence he had launched his attack on Midgard, was now marked with a single A, signifying its place as the 'home' of the Avengers. However, since Tony Stark still held the lease, none of the glitz or glamour had softened. It was still an impressive building, and still impressively expensive. The elevator the Captain led them to might have fed one of Midgard's 'third world' countries if it was decommissioned and sold off for parts.

For a mortal, it was an impressive display of power, channeled through the individual's financial resources. The fact that Tony Stark was the individual in question only slightly dimmed Loki's appreciation. Throwing the man out a window had been one of the single most fulfilling moments of his time on Midgard. He might have to try it again someday.

The doors of the elevator pulled open to reveal a spacious lounge. Incidentally, it was the same lounge Loki had just been fantasizing about, though it had gone through some heavy remodeling since his last visit. The room was no longer the high-rise retreat of a playboy billionaire with a reputation to uphold. It was now a living space for a group of diverse individuals, each of whom had left their mark on the area. But it was still in Stark's tower, even if his name wasn't on the side, and just like the elevator, the room was a testament to the owner's wealth and status. Loki noted, with no little amusement, that the little bar was still stationed against one wall. A giant television screen took most of one wall, and a flotilla of gaming consoles was spread on the shelves around it. The Captain approached it and switched it on. He seemed proud of the act. And Loki had thought modern mortals were woefully impaired in their understanding of technology.

But then the screen came alive with the image of a tall building, probably in Manhattan, and the word 'live' lit up the corner. Loki wondered if he might be able to see the building from Stark's windows. The view rotated, probably recorded on board a hovering transport, and Loki watched without comment as the Iron Man swooped through the shot, blowing out windows and making a general nuisance of himself. He appeared to be doing little real damage.

The monster crossed to a panel on the wall and pressed a series of buttons likely too complicated for the Captain to understand. There was a crackle, but nothing else. He shrugged. "Comm.'s are on. Must not be any chatter."

"Indeed, Doctor Banner," Stark's automated butler replied. There was a reason why Loki had been waiting outside when Stark arrived just before the battle for Manhattan. That reason was Jarvis. "Mr. Stark called for radio silence until Bea completes her phase of the mission – for her protection, of course."

Thor glowered at the television screen in confusion. "Did you not say Bea was with Stark?" he asked.

"She is," said the Captain.

"But I do not see her."

The Captain shrugged, and his opinion of Stark's battle tactics rolled across his face. There was little respect in the gathering clouds roiling over his eyes. "She's not really a fighter, even though he says that's what he's training her to do. Her strength is infiltration. I'm sure Tony's just making a racket to draw their attention. We won't be able to see Bea until her job is already finished."

And, right on cue, Bea burst onto the scene, popping out of a roof access door, stopping just long enough to jam the door behind her. In a heartbeat, she sped off again, probably to put some distance between herself and any pursuers. She stopped at the edge of the roof, peering over, searching for a means of escape. Loki could see none, and he had the better view. He stiffened. It would not do for her to die now. He had put too much effort into maintaining his connection to let a few mortals kill her before she even reached full maturity.

"_Uh, Tony?"_ she said through the comm.

"_Yeah? You on the roof yet?"_

Apparently hearing the first sounds of pursuit, Bea glanced back at the door she'd come through. _"Yes? But there's no fire escape. And there is no way I'm jumping that alley."_

"_Never expected you to, Ducky. Now listen close. I need you to jump."_

The Captain and Thor both made grunts of denial – or disapproval, it was hard to tell. The monster hunched further forward. Loki tried to glare out his disbelief at the screen. Surely the Man of Iron would not…

Sounding appropriately unnerved, Bea asked, _"Come again?"_

"_Jump,"_ Stark said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. _"Right off the front. You need to jump off the side that faces the main avenue. Got that?"_

"_No,"_ Bea said. _"No, I definitely have not got that."_

The first note of gravity seeped into Stark's voice. _"Bea. Jump."_

"_You jump."_

"_Bea!"_

The door crashed open, and Bea hopped back from the edge, looking towards the proper side of the roof.

"_Jump now!"_

Bleating a curse, Bea launched into a dead sprint as gunfire peppering the ground behind her, sending slivers of concrete and puffs of dust flying. And then she was sailing off the edge. For a moment she sailed. Her momentum carried her well away from the glass face of the office building, and she almost looked like she was flying. But after a moment, gravity caught up with her, and she was definitely falling. The comm. crackled with her shrieks as she tumbled out of control, and Loki realized that the room around him had burst into chaos. All the mighty warriors surrounding him were lunging toward the screen under the momentary illusion that they could reach her in time to stop her fall. They all remembered themselves before they crashed, but they stopped mere inches away, blocking almost all of Loki's view.

Something red slammed into Bea, and she wasn't falling anymore. The camera only recorded the catch as a blur, but as the Man of Iron zipped away the lens managed to focus on the repulsors set in his feet.

It had been a close save. This had not been what Loki expected from his return to Midgard. It was not as he left it.

The roar of Iron Man's suit rattled the windows, and the tower's owner came down on his personal landing with a thump they could hear inside. The girl in his arms dropped free and hurried in ahead of him.

Loki stared as Bea Doe stumbled in from the balcony, mere steps ahead of Stark. Once she was safely indoors, she collapsed face first on the floor, groaning. Beside him, Thor took an instinctive step forward, but Bea's flop appeared to be more dramatic than damaging, and the Oh So Chivalrous prince restrained himself. In another moment Stark walked in behind the fallen time bender, and she finally spoke.

"Solid… ground…"

"Oh, shut-up," Stark said, now freed from his armor. "So ungrateful. I caught you, remember? Really." He finally noticed the two Asgardians and upped his performance. Shaking his head, he gestured down at his prone employee. "You have any idea how hard it is to find good staff these days?"

Snorting, the Captain turned away and went to watch as S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives rushed the hijacked office building, ready to clean up the scraps left for them.

"Caught?" Bea raised her face from the floor, glaring up at her boss. "Caught might be too strong a word. Getting caught by you in the suit is like getting 'caught' by a truck."

Loki snorted as his brother chuckled. Stark simply rolled his eyes and said, "Grow a thicker skin," before marching down the steps to his precious wet bar.

For all her show, Bea seemed genuinely unwell. It took her much longer than it should have to rise, and when she was upright she all but limped down the stairs. Loki frowned. And he wasn't the only one to notice Bea's discomfort. The beast was eying her as well. Of course. The hawk had told him that the beast was working as a physician somewhere on the continent of Asia when Loki last visited Midgard.

The man met Bea at the bottom of the stairs and tentatively touched her arm.

Bea seemed determined to ignore him. "Hi, Thor." She waved.

"Greetings. Bea."

Next she welcomed Loki. The smile withered into a frown. "Oh. You."

"A pleasure." Loki smiled, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning forward in a friendly gesture that served to both close a little distance and bring the two to a closer height. "As always."

Thor was giving him a warning look, but Loki elected to ignore him.

"Bea," Banner said, resting a hand on her back, "you took quite a hit. Would you mind coming down to the lab so I can do some scans?"

Stark, who had been fixing himself a drink, looked up and started paying attention.

"Whatever," Bea said. "I'm fine."

Banner took the opportunity to give her a firm pat on the back. The yelp this procured from Bea was almost painful to hear.

Finally realizing that the scene was more than mere theatrics, the Captain approached Bea and the doctor, worry scrawled across his poster-boy face. "Are you alright, Miss Doe?"

"Uh, Bea?" Tony said. "Not to be bossy on your day off, but I think you should go with Dr. Jekyll here."

"You're always bossy," Bea said.

At that point the Captain took her arm and pulled it around his shoulders. Banner took the hint and did the same with the other arm. Bea twitched and hissed as each limb was lifted. Strung between the two men, her feet barely even reached the floor. If it wasn't so pitiful, it would be comical. "Come on, soldier. Let's march."

"Not your soldier."

All too true.

.O.O.O.

Bea kicked her heels as she waited (im)patiently for Doctor Banner to finish his examination. He'd already confirmed that she had two cracked ribs. No big surprise. Now he was recovering from his shock at the amount of bruises hiding in clever places all over her body.

"Like I said: the lighter ones are from Clint. The blotchy ones are from Agent Romanoff. She thinks I'm too weak. I think she sees me as a disgrace to our gender. Damsels in distress went out of fashion a century or so back."

Banner closed his eyes and took off his glasses, cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. It was a nervous habit. But not nervous. It was one of his anti-Hulking rituals. That meant he was getting angry. Bea wasn't sure she'd like him when he was angry. She'd never met the Hulk, but she'd heard stories – and seen the wreckage.

"Bea," Banner said, opening his eyes and returning his glasses to his face. He leaned in gingerly against the exam table. "Why have you been sparring with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?"

She shrugged. "Clint started it. Well, no, that's not right – Tony started it. His whole 'I'm going to train you into an Avenger-duck' thing has kinda caught on, and now Clint wants to put his two cents in my P.E. schedule. Then Agent Romanoff found out and, yeah, the rest is history."

"Anyone else on the team you're trading punches with?"

"Not yet."

"Bea…"

"Give it time. I'm sure with enough hours in the gym and a few hundred boiled chickens I can buff up enough to take on the Other Guy. Be patient."

"Bea." It was a shame Banner never had kids. He had the disappointed daddy voice down pat. "I'm serious. This isn't good for you. You've got your talents, but I don't think hand-to-hand combat is one of them." He poked her in the ribs, and she hissed a few curses at his ancestors. "Neither is flying."

"You should blame Tony for that."

"Blame me for what?"

The duck and the scientist looked over to find the genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist joining the scene. Together they made quite the tableau.

"Global warming, cancer, and Pepper's ulcer."

Only the last of those conjured so much as a blink. "Pepper has an ulcer?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Bea said. "It's due in a couple months. You should be shopping for the ulcer shower."

"Do I want to know what an ulcer shower entails?" Banner asked, the dry humor restored to his voice.

"Probably not," Bea said, "but I'd still tell you if I knew."

"So…" Tony drawled. He joined the party gathered around/on the exam table, looking between the two original party-goers as he waited for an answer. "What's the diagnosis?"

"You cracked my ribs," Bea said. "Two of them."

Tony 'hmm'ed and his attention wandered to the legions of toys waiting patiently on the lab's shelves for his foolhardy fiddling. "That all? I thought it was something serious."

"It is serious, Tony." And the daddy voice was back, tinged, Bea thought, with a bit of green rage monster. "Just a little more force and they could've broken. A lung might've been punctured…"

"Could've, might've," Tony said. This was a challenge of his duck-caring skills. Things just got real. He jerked his eyes away from the toys and pinned Banner with the deadpan stare he generally reserved for Steve when he was being especially sanctimonious. "Possiblities. Not fact." Banner opened his mouth, preparing a rebuttal, but Tony pressed on. "The fact is, she only suffered a couple cracked ribs, and for her first mission, I'd say that's pretty good. She took down the insurgents' computers and cleared the way for S.H.I.E.L.D. I count this as a win."

"A win for what?" Banner asked. He took his glasses off again, but he didn't wipe them. Instead, he twirled a stem between his fingers, like he was angry, but only absently so. "You like Bea. She's your Ducky…" Bea gave a half-hearted: "Hey!" but no was listening to her anyway. "… so why are you trying to turn her into _us_?"

"Uh – us?" Tony gestured around the room, around the _tower. _"Ducky _is_ us. One of. Part of the team. She's not some hapless kid I yanked off the street and dumped in a suit. (She doesn't even have a suit yet, thanks for reminding me) I'm just equipping her to take better care of herself. What's your problem with that?"

Banner's hunch had gone from shy to strained. He was holding himself back, and Bea wondered how long he could keep arguing before he had to leave the room. "As she said to Steve less than an hour ago – she's not a soldier. Why are you trying to turn her into one?"

"You're right. She's not a soldier. She's my Ducky."

"And that's another thing." Banner was using the glasses as a pointer now. Definitely a bad sign. "She's always 'your Ducky.' Like she's a kid. Or a possession. Do you even realize how old she is?"

"Hey, if I got offended every time Tony referred to me as his personal property I would've quit years ago," Bea said.

"I don't refer to you as property." Tony tried to look wounded.

"Yes you do. Shut-up. That's not the point." Bea took an exaggerated breath, giving Banner time to wind down a notch and Tony time to get over his bruised ego. She was well-versed in the art of handling the Science Bros. "I don't want to be an Avenger. And, no, Tony, I don't really care if that hurts your feelings. But I'm getting tired of near death experiences. The point is that nobody is forcing me to do this. It's not my favorite thing, but, hey, I can stop time, and it looks like I'll be able to do a lot more than that someday, so learning to pose heroically and jump off rooftops seems to be in my future, no matter what I want. I'd rather take a few bruises and cracked ribs now than get stuck in a closet by the next Loki who comes to town."

Tony perked up. "Speaking of Loki."

"Shut-up. I shouldn't have mentioned him. I'd almost forgotten him already."

"Good luck with that," Tony said. "He's going to be staying here with Thor, you know."

Bea was insulted that Tony thought so little of her aversion tactics. "I have an apartment, you know. I don't live here. And as for socializing…let's just say Clint's gonna be getting some company in the air ducts."

"Oh!" Childish glee lit Tony's eyes, and Bea wondered what monster she'd just birthed. "Air Ducks!"

"No."

"But it's perfect!"

"Don't even go there."

"But I could make you a webbed cape…"

"Which would be useful, how exactly?"

Tony sniffed. "You have no imagination."

"Yes I do," Bea said. "I just have logic to go with it. They're a matching set."

Doctor Banner wandered over to a microscope and began adjusting the settings. "We're done here. Now go play nicely, kids."

"Did you just group the two of us together?" Bea asked, pointing between herself and Tony.

"Uh." Doctor Banner looked up. He seemed to contemplate his actions for a moment, then capped his thought with a shrug. "I guess so."

"You." Her finger became a stabbing indicator of justice. "You have been around Tony too long. Or Clint. No. Definitely Tony."

Another shrug. "Probably. Now get out of my lab."

**A/N: Loki's POV scares the crap out of me. Just saying. But I really wanted that scene to be through his eyes. Hopefully it came out ok. And Tony's back! IronDuck fans rejoice! They're not a ship, FYI, just a friend-ship. Bruce is a pain to write. He's so demur, but there's... so much... happening...yeah. **

**THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! The next few weeks are going to be really weird. I'm getting my license (finally) and I have the whole house to myself. I'll be working 36 hours straight every weekend, but I'll have a lot of writing time... or a lot of social time. Or both. I just don't know. Life's weird right now. So, please, keep reviewing. It reminds me that I'm supposed to be writing fics and not just reading them.  
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**Anon Replies:  
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**Guest: Thanks for the review! No. No, she's really not.  
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**Mariah Byers: Whoa...thank you! Personally, I think it could be better, but I do have a blast writing it. It means a lot that you enjoy reading it so much! Thanks again!  
**


	19. In Which Vents are Vacated

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 19: In Which Vents are Vacated

Two days after the arrival of the Asgardians, things had come to a head in Air Duct Town. Clint was willing to put up with the invasion of his private hunting grounds so long as Bea was quiet and went back to her apartment at a reasonable hour. But he wasn't willing to put up with Tony, and Tony wasn't willing to put up with Bea hiding in his vents. The inventor got inventive and got a broom, which he used to bang the crap out of any wall, ceiling or floor he thought Bea might be hiding in. A few times, when he couldn't figure out which room Bea and Clint and scooched to, he just jammed the broomstick in a vent grating and hammered away until someone answered him.

Clint – reclusive bowman extraordinaire – did not approve. And so, one evening when Bea had gotten off work and the two of them were resting by a vent from their gerbil-like adventures, he decided that enough was enough.

"I'm sorry, Bea," he said. "But I can't take much more Tony."

Bea remained determinedly oblivious to his insinuations. Dustbunnies were stuck all over her pants, and she busied herself by liberating the poor gobs of fluff. "That's what I say every morning when I come in for work."

"I don't doubt it," Clint said. He was in secret agent assassin mode: calm, blank, and entirely emotionless. It spelled certain doom for Bea's first line of aversion. "This has to stop. You never spend this much time in the vents. You need more space than I do."

"And you need more quiet."

Clint shrugged, but Bea could read between the shoulder blades. Stupid Tony and his stupid broom.

"You're kicking me out, aren't you?"

A nod.

Well, at least he was honest. And blunt. Straight to the point. Ow. Bea wondered if there would ever be a man in her life with more delicacy than a sledge hammer. Tony had all the discretion and care of shopper on Black Friday. Clint was just as bad, but less snarky and more practically realistic. There would be losses. He just knew where to cut them. The Duck must go.

Bea rubbed at her pants some more (smearing rather than freeing the dustbunnies) and peered down through the little metal grate that separated them from the rest of the mad house. Tony was down there somewhere with his broom. Agent Romanoff, Steve, and Doctor Banner were probably each stewing alone in their personal brand of melodrama somewhere, too. And of course the Asgardian Brothers Circus was in town, so somewhere Thor was blowing up toasters and Loki was… doing whatever Loki did when he wasn't taking over the world or doing time in a tree.

But Clint wasn't entirely without mercy."I'll scout a safe exit point for you," he said.

"Thanks." Bea offered a lackluster smile.

"No problem."

True to his word, he found a quiet place for her to emerge from the vents, entirely deserted and conveniently located near several exits. It was bound to get loud soon, though, so she didn't linger. She didn't want to bump into Loki for obvious reasons. She didn't want to bump into Tony or Thor, because they'd drag her around being sociable, which would inevitably end with a Loki-encounter, which, again, she wanted to avoid for obvious reasons.

She made it out the door and down the back stairs. Tony was doubtless monitoring the elevators, and if he saw her, he could make JARVIS direct/herd her wherever he wanted. He was probably watching the stairs, too, but JARVIS couldn't make those stop going down. A great deal of cardio later, she was on the ground floor and crossing the lobby. Everything was going swimmingly. That should've been a sure sign that things were about to go south.

It was a sneaky, wicked kind of evil that found her, the sort born from good intentions and great social skills. This particular evil had smooth red hair, a pencil skirt and a winning smile. Its name was Miss Pepper Potts.

"Bea!"

She winced at the call. Her pining eyes turned yearningly to the doors – so close, and yet so far.

Pepper clicked up beside her, and Bea knew her good fortune was at an end. "I was hoping to catch you before you left. Finally left the vents, I see."

Bea struggled to mount a smile. "You wanted to see me? Yeah? Why?"

"Well, we haven't had a proper welcome party for Thor yet, and I thought you should be there. I thought you might even want to help."

Freedom: farewell.

Purgatory: hello.

There was no point arguing with Pepper. The woman was a million times more formidable than Tony when he was in the Iron Man suit. She always got her way. Nicely. But still. She got her way.

"And when would this shin-dig be taking place?"

"Tomorrow night. Just come up after work."

Smiling was like breaking a concrete mask. "Sure. Sounds fun."

"Good. We haven't seen enough of you lately." Pepper's smiling was glowing. She patted Bea on the arm and then turned to walk away. "And Tony misses you."

Bea kept up the smile until Pepper was a safe distance away. Then the concrete frown grew back.

She was so, so going to regret this.

.O.O.O.

Pepper decided Thor needed exposure to more Earth foods than just poptarts and shawarma. So the dinner's theme was Mexican themed. She would bring the tacos, burritos and quesadillas from a local restaurant, but she insisted that the best guacamole was always fresh, so she left the kitchen stocked enough avocados to feed the mass of warriors. Then she asked Bea to make it while she picked up the main dishes. Bea didn't mind. She was able to slip into the kitchen without passing through the sitting room where Thor's booming laughter was shaking the glass. He Who Must Not Be Named was undoubtedly in there, too.

The kitchen was good. The kitchen was safe. And, as an added bonus, she got to express her angst at the expense of some hapless avocados.

She was pretty sure she'd escaped notice from the Man Herd on her way in. There was a mini kitchen in the 'family' room, but the main kitchen, the one with the serious equipment was down the hall. The Avengers were a motley crew, two of which were master assassins who valued their privacy very highly. They didn't like everyone's noses in their business. Therefore, the designs were changed so that people could come and go from the main Avengers recreational floor without being seen. The back stairs were Bea's best friend. She was getting so much cardio these days…

Just when she was getting into some serious guacamole making, her employer popped through the door, his eyes lighting up like a puppy who had just spied his favorite bone. So many questions. Bea knew she was about to be flooded with awkward.

"So…" Tony clung to the word, stretching it out like taffy as he took a place at the counter next to Bea. "How are you feeling about…" he waved vaguely towards the sitting area and the two Asgardians parked there, "…this?"

It wasn't hard to determine which one Stark was referencing. After all, only one of them was guilty of kidnapping and bedazzlement.

Beating the living crap out of the avocado was getting more therapeutic by the second. "I feel frustrated, and anxious, a little angry, and maybe queasy."

Stark glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah, well, just don't puke in the dip, right?"

"Hey." Steve swung his head into the room. "Are you alright, Bea?"

With a primal growl, Bea gave the guacamole a final mash and slapped down the spoon. "Next person who asks if I'm okay gets a tortilla chip in the eye."

Steve nodded, and Bea thought she saw the shadow of a smirk on his face. "Duly noted, Miss Doe." Then he ducked out, and Bea thanked her lucky stars that at least one of her friends knew how to mind his own bee's wax.

Tony, on the other hand, loitered at her elbow until the green dip was done, and then he bounced along at her side all the way back to the 'family' room. It was annoying. But that was to be expected. It was Tony.

In the room, Bea had bigger problems than her boss. Thor, the golden retriever, popped up from the couch and charged – ears perked, tail waving. For a minute he effectively blocked the rest of the room as he snatched her up in a hug. She might have enjoyed it more if it weren't for the cracked ribs.

"Nice to see you, too," she croaked. "But it's only been a couple days since you saw me, you know."

"Of course! But our last meeting was brief, and I believe you have been avoiding me."

Bea blushed under his reprimanding stare. Yes, she'd been avoiding him. She hadn't really tried to be discreet about it. She just really didn't like his kid brother.

"Do you plan to share, brother?"

Think of the devil.

Thor stepped back, but pretty much everyone else in the room stepped forward. The Avengers had assembled before Bea finished (probably even started) the guacamole, and they were not pleased. The more polite (or more restrained) ones just straightened up and maybe took a step forward. Clint actually stepped up to block Loki's potential route, and Tony wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, stooping to nestle his chin on her shoulder. It was kind of chauvinistic, but all things considered, Bea found she didn't mind.

"My ducky," Tony declared. "Get your own, Reindeer Games."

Loki raised his hands as if to say, 'Hey, look, I'm harmless.' No one believed him. Bea could tell, because no one backed down. Except Thor. But Thor hadn't gone on the defensive to start with so…

"I meant no offense."

"Of course he did not!" Thor boomed cheerily. He was trying to defuse the situation, but he was just making things more awkward, not less strained. "Come, friends! Loki has done penance for his crimes. He is here as our ally."

"And Fury is starting a kitten adoption agency," Tony said.

"Just because we need him doesn't mean we trust him," Steve said. At Thor's wounded look, the super soldier amended, "Yet."

"Try ever," Bea said.

"I know that I am the villain here," Loki said. He motioned around the room, his gestures sharp, his voice determined, almost angry. "But I come with nothing but good intentions. If I am to survive, then Midgard must survive. And you should all have realized by now that I never meant for Bea Doe to come to harm."

"But she did," Clint said.

"Of course," said Loki, "and you would know from personal experience."

To his great credit, Clint didn't flinch. That didn't mean he hadn't felt it, though. Bea made plans involving baskets of cookies and the roof, where Clint was bound to hide come nightfall.

They hadn't even tried the appetizer yet, and they were all going for the throat.

This was going to be a long meal.

.O.O.O.

Bea was armed with enough caffeine to raise a small army from the dead. With Loki Earth-side, she didn't dare snatch more than a few hours of sleep at a time, and that at odd hours of the day. She didn't dare keep a regular sleep cycle. That was too easy for Loki to figure out. If he didn't know when she was going under, there was less chance he'd make sure he was in a position to stalk her dreams. Thus far he'd kept his smarmy face to himself (except in person, blech), but Bea wasn't ready for the kind of crap he might spew through her dreams on a bad day.

Cat naps were her friends. Tony had walked in on her at work to find her curled up on her work desk, spattered and smeared with watercolors. It was a very colorful scene. As if her tired dreams were colorful enough. The closer her brain inched towards mandatory crashing, the loopier and more vivid her unconscious adventures became. And she was sure they had nothing to do with Loki, not unless the prince had taken a fancy to flying cats and unicorns that farted rainbows.

It took more effort than it should have to focus on the pavement in front of her. When New York was rebuilt, Bea had decided to upgrade to an apartment within walking distance of Stark Tower (now Avengers – or as many talk show hosts liked to call it 'A' – tower). Everything in that particular neighborhood was on the ridiculous end of the overpriced scale, but she managed to swing a small place, and she never had to trust a cabby or dare the subway for her morning commute ever again. And the city was just so much more interesting on foot, anyway. From inside a cab it was all blurred crowds and shiny skyscraper lobbies. From the subway it was invisible. On foot, though, the city became street artists, graffiti, a man with a swanky tie, a hot dog vendor with a Polish accent, and some harried co-ed walking ten dogs to cover tuition.

Tired as she was, the scene was pleasant. Loud, smoky, and a little rough, but interesting. There was always something new to catch her attention. Like that man trying to hold in his intestines.

Bea jerked to a stop and did a double take. It was a business man, and his left arm looked charred. It was a wonder he was able to use it at all. From his waist down, his torso was shredded. Little ribbons of skin and muscle flapped in the wind eternally trapped between the office buildings, and a rain of blood peppered the sidewalk with red. He tumbled forward, his spirit fading, and Bea knew he'd be dead before he hit the pavement.

Then he was standing back up, perfectly dressed and pressed, not a bit of blood on him. As Bea struggled to breathe, the man checked his watch, muttered an oath and began trotting away, his briefcase a-swing at his side.

Avengers Tower was only a block away, but it seemed like miles. Bea lurched to her office with the rushed stagger of the desperately queasy and almost missed the trashcan as she spilled her guts. After several minutes of vomiting, the dry heaves gradually eased, and Bea started piecing together what she'd seen. It must have been a wisp of the future. Usually they weren't so solid, and she'd never experienced one so powerful before. It had never felt real. A person's past felt like bits of old film pinned over their aura, and the future was like trying to read a drive-thru menu through a kaleidoscope.

So did this mean something big was coming, something that left extremely strong echoes in the future, or was it just another stage in her development? There was someone she could ask, but she was pretty sure she'd choose death first. Her only concern was that the death might not be her own.

**A/N: So sorry about the delay! I was out of town for a while, and then I had the usual long shift at work. Then the lady I work with fell and they had to call the ambulance. She's okay, but I didn't update last night like I'd planned for obvious reasons. Already started on the next chapter, so it should be up on schedule, possibly early. **

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews! They mean a lot and are extremely helpful.  
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**Anon replies:  
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**Guest: Thanks for the review! She has definitely been practicing stealth. Thanks again!  
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	20. In Which Energy Drinks are to Blame

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 20: In Which Energy Drinks Are to Blame

She wasn't an authority junkie, but having assistants was nice. Even though Bea'd been head of a department for years, she'd had little real communication with the rest of the crew, scattered as they were across the rest of the world in different offices, managing different tasks. Her only solid connections had been email and the occasional video conference. Even then, most of their interaction involved doling out tasks, checking in on projects and making final arrangements for large corporate events. Bea's preferred method of work distribution was to give tangible concrete assignments to those under her command and let them run with it. Then she handled all the little projects that popped in from other departments (and Stark) that made life messy. It had worked out well, but with the re-christening of Avengers Tower and all the press garbage associated with it, Bea had found herself drowning in a flash flood of surprise demands. So Tony had given her a gift: two assistants to help reinforce the levies. He even let her pick them. It had been one of the rare days Bea praised her boss in public.

The assistants' names were Sarah and Michelle. Their fashion sense and preferred color palettes were much more interesting than their labels. Still, Michelle had almost lost out to a girl named Shaherizod, purely because the girl was named Shaherizod, and the opportunity for name puns was boundless. Luckily for Michelle, Shaherizod had poor taste in fonts, so Michelle got the job.

But neither Sarah nor Michelle was in. They had gone home at a reasonable hour, like all sane people did when their time was up and their boss gave them the nod. So they were at home, likely curled up under the covers, enjoying the deep peace that only REM cycle sleep can deliver. But Bea was not sane, nor did she have a boss who generally remembered to come down and kick her out when she was working too hard. So she was burning the midnight oil (again) and trying to get her ducks in a row. Sadly, the ducks had transformed into Canada geese sometime during the past two days, and now nipped and charged if Bea dared to even think of coaxing her weary brain into order.

To make matters worse, she had a voluntary replacement assistant. His name was Loki, and she hated him.

Bea didn't feel like dealing with Norse god and his ego-maniacal crap that evening. The package design for Stark's next wave of eco-friendly smart phones was due for corporate review (manhandling) in eight hours, and Tony had asked that she contribute some personal art for a fundraiser he was throwing in two weeks. It wouldn't be a bad load if she actually had any of her own art. What she'd made in college she'd sold or gifted off years back, and between her job and her ever-evolving super powers, she just didn't have time to get frisky with the paints in her spare time. Because she had no spare time. She didn't have time at all, actually. She only left the Tower to sleep, and she'd pulled all-nighters twice that week.

Every day she praised the Corporate Father for keeping the royal prat on upper-level lockdown. It meant she was free to work, and she only had to suffer his presence when she socialized. Which wasn't often anymore. But now, due to good behavior (and probably a lot of wheedling from Thor), Loki had been given free range of the Tower once business hours were over, provided that he kept up that good behavior, of course. And JARVIS was watching his every move like a nanny on her first day with a kid fresh from juvi.

The vents. They were calling her.

Overworked, sleep deprived, and running on a few too many gallons of Amp and Red Bull, Bea struggled to ignore the man _sitting on her desk_.

"You need to rest."

Bea hummed and flipped through the portfolio in her hands. It contained earlier concepts for the smart phone packaging. They'd moved quickly from the hippie hemp and daisy montage to sleeker, cleaner looking designs. At the moment, the greatest point of contention was color. Maybe she would just pick her favorite three options and chuck them all at the board, leave the ball in their court and watch them bicker over it for a few hours. Actually, no, she wouldn't watch them bicker. She would be asleep. In her apartment. Locked away from Loki and his physical self. His metaphysical self could bounce around in her melon whenever she turned out the lights.

Of course she needed rest. Idiot.

Gathering that Bea would _not_ be favoring him with a response like a mature adult, he started eyeing the piles of folders and loose sheaves of paper burying her workspace like drifts of flat snow. One of the folders was not like the others. It had a bright blue cover, smeared with smudgy handprints, hand-made by Bea herself.

"What is this?" He reached for it, only for Bea to smack the folder down flat on the table.

"That," she said, "is mine."

Loki cocked a brow. "And here I assumed it was the Hawk's."

Bea rolled her eyes and kept working. Chucking the final decision into the board's collective lap was sounding better by the second. Her eyes refused to focus on the analyses and reports carefully typed up around each prototype, and she took that as a sign from a higher power (not the one at her elbow) that it was quitting time.

She hadn't slept in fifty hours.

"Perhaps I should irritate you more often," Loki said, fixing her with his usual (mischievous) look, "if that's the only time you will speak to me."

Enough was enough. "For the love of cheese! Jeez! Shut-up!" Bea had been aiming for Startled Loki, maybe even Alarmed Loki. But instead she got Intrigued Loki, which meant his butt was glued more firmly to her desk than ever. Goody. She needed to find more constructive means of channeling her frustrations. This was clearly not working.

Praying that on some level Loki was a decent being, and that even though he'd never suffered the ignominy of working a nine to five desk job, he might understand what it felt like to be utterly overwhelmed, Bea decided to try for some sympathy. "Look," she said, "I have work to do. And, seriously, we have issues. Maybe we can have a nasty heart-to-heart later, but right now I just need to get this crap done because, as you pointed out, I need to sleep."

"Can these tasks not wait until the morning?" Loki inquired.

"Most can. But this thing," she lifted up the packaging portfolio, "can't. It needs to be done, like, yesterday. But since now is all I have, that's what I'm working with."

"May I be of assistance?"

Stop.

Hold.

Back up.

Rewind.

What?

Loki was not a good person. He wasn't even a very nice person. In fact, Loki was a very, very _bad_ person. Bad people didn't offer to help with work. They usually made more of it just to spite the good little worker Beas. This didn't add up.

A horse is a horse, of course, of course. Too much Red Bull. Oh, heavens, when did the lights go purple? Was this all a really bad hallucination? Or was she dreaming? Maybe this was another one of Loki's cracked-out visions that left her feeling confused and mildly violated when she woke up at four eighteen in the morning.

"Bea?" Loki asked, leaning closer. "Are you unwell?"

"Are _you?_"

"I'm certain that many of your… _psychiatrists_ would make a plea under oath as to my mental instability," he said. "But I feel perfectly fine. You, on the hand, look as if Thor struck you. He must have, to leave such incredible bruises under your eyes."

Self-consciously, Bea prodded her droopy lower lids, wondering if she would need Botox to restore their elasticity.

"Good thing I declined that offer to compete in the Miss America pageant, then, huh?"

Loki cocked his head, rather like a bird, and for one instant the thought that '_Hey, he's kinda cute when he does that'_ made it to the forefront of Bea's thoughts. Then she remembered that he was evil and she hated him and that this could all be blamed on the energy drinks. She still felt a little sick, though.

"I'm afraid I do not understand that reference."

For Loki, admitting ignorance was probably like a regular guy admitting that his grandma could lift more than he could. What the crap? Vulnerability was not his thing. Why was he fessing up? Why was he camped on her desk in the first place?

"I seriously do not get it."

Lips trembling with loosely suppressed laughter, the prince crossed his legs and leaned back into the drifts of printer paper. "You don't understand your own reference?"

"Oh, no, I get the hypocritical beauty contest to decide who gets the scholarship money rigmarole. What I don't get is _why me_."

"Well, I wouldn't call you unattractive. Perhaps not the perfect standard of Midgardian beauty, but hardly an eyesore."

"Wow." All those holy-crap-my-hair-is-going-grey insecurities came roaring to the forefront of her thoughts. She thought she killed those off years ago. Dang. "Thanks."

"I am still confused as to what you mean by _why you_."

Ah, so sarcasm wasn't lost on him. Apparently it was lost on her, though. Must be an unlisted side-effect of overdosing on Amp.

"I meant," she elaborated. "Why me. Why you. Together."

He raised his eyebrows, and Bea realized that her powers of speech must be burning away with that midnight oil. She tried again. "Why do you treat me like your favorite pet all the freaking time?" The head-tilt was back. Just a little, but it was there. He was still evil. It took effort to remember that. "It's like… I dunno. You like having me around, and you love to tell me how important I am, but then you never treat me like a threat. I'm your Kujo puppy. Someday, I'll rip someone's throat out, but right now you're happy sticking bows on my collar and taking too many pictures of me sleeping on the couch."

It was more than she'd ever meant to tell him and less than she'd always wanted to ask. Whatever it was, it gave him pause, and for a few minutes Bea savored the silence as the prince of evil examined the dead mouse his puppy had just dropped in his lap.

"I suppose… I don't know." He seemed struck the novelty of the idea, and his eyes brightened as he pursued the question. "I don't know, but… but you may be more apt in your explanation than you meant to be. One day you _will_ be powerful, but as of the moment – you are not. You need protection: defenders and heroes to guard you. But someday you will be almost divine. Your abilities will surpass all strength of arms. So, yes, you are rather like a pet in that regard. Though," he shifted, as if his thoughts made his butt suddenly uncomfortable in its throne of Bea's folders, "to be fair, I must say that you're rather more like a young dragon, not a canine."

"Because I'll flame your pasty hide when I grow up big and strong?"

The look he gave her could've stewed a small mammal at fifty paces.

"This is what _I_ do not understand," Loki said. "I seek to care for you, to protect and defend you. I even work to express personal interest in your development, and you act as if such consideration is an insult."

"Uh, maybe because you kidnapped me (more than once), imprisoned me, and base every offer of friendship, or companionship, or whatever it is you're selling on the fact that I'm destined to be a social pariah until the end of days. And then there's the little issue of Manhattan…"

"No." Queen Loki was back. Bea hadn't seen him since the prince came sweeping into her office. When Queen Loki took over, he became all narrow lips and hard angles. His eyes burned in a becoming way, though… what the crap. Bad brain. Oblivious, Queen Loki continued. "I sought to put you out of the line of fire. I redirected vital resources to bring you to a safe location, _more than once_, and I have only said such things because they are true."

"And have you stopped to consider the possibility that maybe you're just a little bit _wrong_?"

Ah. _There_ was Startled Loki.

Convinced that the prince of evil would keep himself to himself for the rest of the evening, Bea grabbed the three color schemes she liked best along with the final 3D package design, tossed them in a box and left it on Sarah's desk with a note to ship it off to the Evil League of Evil (also known as the Board). Then she snatched up her purse and the personal folder Loki had tried to read and headed for the door.

Dreamland, here she came.

.O.O.O.

She must have been hallucinating. That was the only explanation. She had just dozed off and conjured up a fictional encounter between herself and the god of mischief to account for all the work she had _not_ finished.

She actually believed it until dear Sarah and Michelle went home that evening.

With the packaging prototypes safely sent to the slaughterhouse, Bea was free to spend her evenings trying to make art. She pulled her easels out of storage and set them up in a corner of her office with good light. They would also be out of the way there, which was a considerable bonus. Less chance of Tony waltzing in, exclaiming, "What's this?" and rubbing his oily hands all over them. The only oily hands allowed to touch Bea's art were her own. Period. End of story. Fin.

She'd dedicated a week to planning the four pieces for Tony's fundraiser, and she'd made a personal vow to do something different. But, staring at the blank canvas, she could only see a single picture, and she realized that she should just stick to the classics.

It was time to get messy.

After rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, she squeezed out a generous rainbow of oil paints. With a bit of smearing and smooshing, she mixed them to the desired shades and set to work. Her hands were brilliantly colored in short order.

Who said fine art couldn't involve finger painting?

The background wound be finger painted on – a healthy mix of colors stripped down to their basic form, without geometric shapes to box them in, or ordered forms to distract from the raw impression of vibrancy. It might have been the most artistic thought she'd had all year.

She didn't even realize Loki was in the room until his long white fingers took a dab of paint off her palette. "Come on! It's called knocking. Even Thor knows how to do that." It took a lot of effort not to panic. A lot of concentration. The fact that he was standing at her frigging elbow was triggering every flight response she had.

Loki rubbed the paint between his fingers, examining the blending colors as they bled into the crevices of his skin. "It is not a matter of knowing, but one of doing."

"So you're admitting that you're smart rather than wise."

Still working the paint, Loki glanced at Bea. "One is much like the other."

"Ah…" Bea made a long swipe across the canvas, the colors dragging behind her hand like a comet's tail. "Here on Earth we say that smart people just know lots of things. Wise people know how to implement them."

"I believe your friends upstairs will gladly attest to my capacity to implement my own schemes." Finally, he stopped playing with the paint. "But this is not why I sought you out. I thought I deserved to make a defense against your attack last evening."

There went the dream hypothesis. It grew wings and flew out the window with the last bits of Cool and Reason. If she was gonna die, she was gonna die fighting. "I didn't attack. I just asked a question. Defensive, much?"

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Much. Such an inquiry implies that I did not think my actions through before deciding on a course of action."

"As I said, smart and wise are not the same thing." Looking towards the palette meant looking towards Loki, but she needed more paint, so she braved a peek. She spied a good swirl of colors tucked to one side of the mess, and she slapped her hand in with enough force to send spatters flying. "You think things through, but I'm not convinced you're wise enough to see the bigger picture."

"And what, pray tell," Loki said, "ever led you to believe that I sought to convince you of anything?"

"Uh, you did."

Before their little heart-to-heart could edge any farther into the danger zone, the office door flew open, and Tony Stark appeared in all his goateed glory, angry as a hippo with a cavity.

"This is a violation of your parole, buddy," he said, stabbing a finger at Loki. "I'm going to rip you a new one."

"I would love to see you try," Loki said, savoring the last word as it passed his lips. Clearly, he saw no threat in the shivering, angry little mortal. Bea, on the other hand, saw lots of threat. "And how is this a violation of the freedoms you yourself agreed to? It is after your company's work hours, and I have not 'broken your tower'. On what grounds do you charge me?"

Tony pointed at Bea. "That is Ducky. She is mine. You kinda already broke her by implanting your bling in her chest. Back. Off."

Loki's eyes blazed green fire, and Bea tried to imagine how she would explain what was about to happen in her office to the janitorial crew. 'Yes, sorry, but our boss decided to take on a demi-god. Mistakes were made. Offices were broken. I am so, so sorry.'

"Make me, mortal."

**A/N: So for Christmas, I'm giving you all a little development in the whole Bea and Loki area. I'd developed Bea's hate/paranoia of Loki to the point that she had to be slightly off her rocker to approach him as anything but a rabid rattlesnake. So... energy drinks. Blame it on the energy drinks. Right now I'm floundering plot-wise, because some of my original plans evaporated, and I'm suffering from mild sleep deprivation. Pulled a 60+ hour shift, and am well-worn. And slap happy. Hello! **

**Ideas? Requests? Please share! Leave a note in the box below. I'd be pickled tink to hear from ****you.  
**


	21. In Which Bea Boozes

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 21: In Which Bea Boozes

It was a dumb idea, but it was the only one she had, so before the flames could rise and the bombs could fall, Bea grabbed two tubes of paint and fired.

Loki was hit in the face with a lovely emerald green. Tony's shirt was stained with a cool lavender. If they hugged, they could make Barney.

There was silence, all the threats buried beneath an oily layer of shock. It was too good to last. Bea knew she only had moments to live. In another second, those looks of surprise would morph into disgust, then rage. If the second prince of Asgard didn't shred her, Tony would probably make her wish he would have. They'd talked about the whole paint-the-boss thing.

But at least her office would be spared. It was the small things that mattered, right? She'd been meaning to redecorate. Nothing wrong with some blood-red walls.

It was that lovely dream of redecorating that helped her grow her spine back. "My office," she said. Pointing to the door, she added, "If you'd like to continue this little ego feud, please go to one of the Hulk proofed rooms. I work here. Go away."

Her words broke the beautiful spell of silence, and (surprise!) Tony was the first one to start making noise again.

"Hey, I own the building," he said, "I can fight wherever I want to." He looked back at Loki. "Bring it, Kermit."

Bea squeezed more paint at him. This time it nailed him right between the eyes.

"Out. Now."

"I can fire you, you know."

"Oh, I know. Believe me. I also know that _I'm the one holding the paint_, so get out!"

Even if Tony was ready to make her work overtime for the rest of her life, it seemed that she had successfully defused at least half of the situation. But Loki was standing stiffer than a statue. Bea wasn't convinced he wouldn't explode if touched, so she decided to declare an emergency evacuation, and focused on chasing her boss back towards the door, paint in hand. On the way she dropped one tube and grabbed her coat.

Running away was dishonorable. It was cowardly. It was also smart. Always the clever girl, Bea darted through the door after her boss. She was afraid Tony might rig JARVIS against her, so she forsook the elevator and took the stairs, ordering the AI en route to summon Thor to her office to collect his brother. Then she zipped out of the building like the devil was on her heels, only stopping when she was tucked safely behind her dead bolted door.

Mr. Stark did not pay her enough.

.O.O.O.

For the next month, Bea came in early to work and left at the close of business hours. Then she went straight home. She did not pass Go. She did not collect two hundred dollars. She did not fraternize with the crazies upstairs. Mostly because she was too chicken to face the wrath of one be-smeared trickster prince. And her boss. Her boss was scary.

She should've expected some form of retaliation (she did, in fact; that was why she'd gone all antisocial). She tried to defend herself by aversion. But she forgot one very important fact: two of the crazies upstairs were master assassins. The deadbolt on her apartment door was a laughable defense. It could even be called pathetic. All Bea knew was that she gained a whole new level of sympathy for heart attack victims when she came into her living room and found Natasha Romanoff waiting by the window with her arms crossed.

"SON OF A PINEAPPLE!"

"Hello, Bea." Agent Romanoff's voice was still as dry as dry ice, and twice as likely to burn.

"H-hi," Bea said, trying to press her heart back in her chest. "Um. I wasn't expecting company?"

"I know." The assassin took a seat on Bea's couch. As the woman crossed her long legs and leaned on the armrest, Bea thought she could hear the fluffy upholstery begging for its life. "But Clint was."

Oh. Yes. Hawkeye. Always caught in the middle of other people's messes.

"And Tony."

Always caught in the middle of his own messes.

"And Steve, and Bruce, and Thor."

Puppy. Salamander. Golden retriever. She'd just graduated to animal abuse.

"And me, actually."

She was going to die.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I kind of miss our little sparring matches."

Bea couldn't restrain her snort. It just sort of exploded. Then she had to explain herself to Natasha's quizzical eyebrow. That eyebrow. It demanded answers. "You mean you miss having an excuse to kick my butt on a regular basis."

Natasha dignified the accusation with a miniscule nod and a more than miniscule smirk. "It's a possibility."

Bea leveled a special kind of look at the redhead. _She knew it_.

"I'm here to invite you to a party."

Well, of course that would – "Wha..?"

This time the sneaky little smirk blossomed into a brief smile. Dang that woman, she was enjoying this. "A party, Bea. On New Year's Eve."

Somehow Bea didn't think she'd enjoy seeing what a bunch of drunk S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did at midnight. "Er, I think I'm already booked for the company party…"

"So is Tony. But there's going to be a second private party upstairs."

Upstairs. With her boss. And the green-eyed monster. And a _whole_ lot of booze because – who was she kidding? – this was a private soiree thrown by the man himself. The fumes from all the open bottles alone would probably make her tipsy. This seemed like a bad plan…

"Since you haven't been around for a while, someone had to come invite you personally. Tony doesn't want to leave a paper trail. Too many paparazzi dig through his mail."

"Well…" Her hands slipped into her pockets, almost without her notice, and her feet began gliding around in an awkward shuffle. "You know I would, but…"

"Bea." The legs came uncrossed. Things just got real. "I know what this is about."

Unlikely. "Oh? Really? What's that?"

It wasn't understanding in Natasha's eyes. It wasn't allowed to be. She picked her answer carefully, loading a single word with all the fears and frustrations boiling in the back of Bea's mind. "Loki."

And… bingo. Loki. Evil Loki. Snarky Loki. Pretty Loki. She was more afraid of him than ever, especially since their little discussions in her office. He was breaking the rules, cracking the tidy box she'd stuffed him in titled "Two Dimensional Villain". She couldn't tell if it was him shaking her up, or if she was just losing her grip. Every now and then, between the aliens and the abduction and the freaky super powers, she wondered if she was slipping off her rocker. What sucked the most was that she'd just been getting into the swing of things. If he'd just stayed in his box, she would've been able to take him.

"Bea." The authority in the agent's voice forced Bea out of her own head, and she surfaced back into reality to find Natasha grilling her with a look that could make grown men cry.

Oh, fudge bunnies. She knew. Now came the inevitable discussion of betrayal, because even wandering thoughts could be used by a master manipulator like the god of lies, so she had as good as sold them out already, and now Natasha would have to off her…

"There are six of us."

Each with their own special brand of torture.

"We won't let him touch you."

Free at last! Free at last! Thank gooseberry tart, she was free at last! The master assassin hadn't figured out her issues. She may live beyond the end of the week.

Natasha was still waiting for an answer. "Don't let him beat you."

Honestly? Not her biggest concern. But whatever.

"I demand a full protection detail."

Picking up on the obvious sarcasm, the assassin smiled again, almost gently. Almost. "Request granted."

.O.O.O.

Bea didn't often feel like an adult, and the sense of control that came with high heels and hair spray was surprisingly liberating. The heels let her look men of middling height straight in the eye. The styling let her pretend she had class. It was even easier to pretend after one or two glasses of campaign.

For a Stark party, things were pretty dull. By that, she meant people were talking rather than screaming, walking rather than dancing like chimps on crack, and still adhering to the basic forms of social manners. Bea knew it was because Tony was saving himself for the real madness upstairs, but it was still unsettling. It was like the world had gone and changed the rules since she started maintaining a normal sleep cycle.

She knew it wasn't true, but she still felt left out. People talked to her. She talked to people. The cycle repeated. All her friends were upstairs. They were all very weird. People downstairs were all very normal.

She definitely belonged a few floors up.

For appearance's sake, she kept to the official Stark function until eleven o'clock, and by that time the booze was starting to kick in, and all of her acquaintances had gravitated towards their friends, significant others, and Persons Of Interest, trying to sniff out the most likely donor of a good kiss when the ball dropped. Bea slipped off to the elevator, and no one even noticed. Flashy shoes and curly hair could only hold the public's attention for so long, it seemed, and Bea's need to be an adult had been sated for the foreseeable future.

That was good, because things were much less mannered upstairs.

No one was actually drunk, per say, but Thor had definitely been doing his part to sustain the alcohol industry, the good Captain had un usually twinkle in his eye, and Clint might have been buzzed. Or Agent Romanoff gave him his New Year's kiss early. It was hard to tell the difference. All Bea knew was that he was smiling. Alcohol or smooching must be involved.

Bruce wasn't holding a drink, not even water, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess why. He was stuck in a room with some of the greatest pranksters known to mankind, and nothing could kill a party like the Hulk on a bender. And speaking of tricksters…

Loki was standing by the windows, angled to enjoy the view and keep an eye on the elevator at the same time. His gaze turned her way the second the doors slid open.

She should've pre-gamed more at the first party. There wasn't half as much alcohol in her system as there should be. As if reading her thoughts, Clint appeared at her elbow, holding out a glass filled with an unknown liquor. Common sense demanded that Bea use her head and politely decline the drink, waiting until she could mix something for herself, but Loki was still standing there looking at her, and _dang_ if Clint's concoctions couldn't knock an elephant on its butt.

She downed it in one go.

It _burned_.

"Thought you might need that," Clint said, sounding unusually pleased with himself. Maybe Bea had been wrong. Maybe he'd gotten a kiss _and_ a couple drinks.

"No joking."

Clint let free one of his twitchy little half-smirks, but he'd put it away again before anyone else noticed. "There's more where that came from. Just say the word."

Eyes. Green eyes. Very green eyes… He looked pretty.

"Word."

.O.O.O.

In retrospect, a second drink wasn't the best idea. The third drink was an even worse one. Nothing need be said about the fourth. Before she knew it, Bea was laughing and cracking jokes like nobody's business. She even complimented Agent Romanoff on her hair, lived to tell Bruce about her adventure, and then went back to call the agent Natasha to her face. She lived after that, too. If anything, the assassin looked warmly amused. If she didn't know better, Bea would assume she'd been drinking, too, but she did know better. If Clint was buzzed, the only other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in attendance would never let her guard down. Alcohol was out of the question. Bea wondered if they'd drawn straws over who got to booze it up at the party.

And Clint was definitely drinking. He was sneaky, but she saw him down at least one of his mysterious cocktails, and she was sure there were others. She was working on the assumption that he drank like he shot: for every one you saw, there were five more you never witnessed. He was just that good.

When Tony finally surfaced from the depths of normalcy, he was well on his way to smashed, and the party really got into gear. The music, already loud, was cranked up enough to shake the drinks on the bar, and Bea saw Pepper discretely command JARVIS to lockdown all Iron Man tech for the rest of the evening.

She should've locked Bea away for the rest of the evening, too.

Instead of making her forget about the evil genius in the corner, the booze just stripped away her concerns about him. There were simply no problems in the world. Everything was _fine_. Because he wasn't a threat, she didn't always notice him, but when she did, every mental filter was down. There was nothing wrong with admiring him from a distance. Nothing really wrong about admiring him close up, either.

As the countdown for the ball drop entered the final five minutes, Bea wandered over to the windows to enjoy the view. Loki, despite Thor's prodding, pleading and puppy-dog eyes had refused to move, so when Bea came sauntering over, he just _happened_ to be about three feet away. Accidents happened, right?

"I was under the impression that you did not enjoy my company," Loki said. His voice said a lot that he didn't actually use words to communicate. He knew she was drunk, very drunk. And it was play time.

Sober Bea would've scuttled off with her tail between her legs to hide behind Tony (who was trying to convince Pepper that – "If we start kissing now, we can just keep it up while the ball drops! Create, you know, a sense of unity and…continuity…over the years. And then I can tell everyone that I kissed you in one year and didn't stop until the next. Romantic, right?"). Drunk Bea had no sense of self preservation.

"I was under the impression that you didn't give a crap."

And… cue Surprised Loki. Score. Smug Loki just wasn't as cute as Surprised Loki. It had something to do with his eyes and the way his eyebrows lifted just a smidgeon.

Behind her, she heard the rest of the room's occupants begin chanting with the countdown.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Loki's thoughts were already starting to coalesce again. She could see them swirling together behind his eyes. It was a shame. The guy needed more surprises in his life.

"Seven! Six!"

Maybe that was why he'd turned super villain in the first place – just too freakin' bored with the status quo.

"Five!"

Heck, if she didn't have the constant distraction of her job at Stark Industries and her crazy Time Lord powers, she'd probably audition for the Evil League of Evil, too.

"Four!"

So, he was just like Shrek. He was an onion – a very pretty green onion.

"Three!"

He'd been standing here alone all night.

"Two!"

He must be lonely.

"One!"

He needed better luck in his life.

"Happy New Year!"

Acting on pure, alcoholic instinct, she bounced up and pressed her lips to his. Her hands came to rest on the sides of his face, holding him steady as he jerked back in surprise. Surprise… success! After the initial rush of glee, she realized that his mouth actually felt really nice, especially when he started kissing her back. So she kept kissing him, and he kept kissing her. Eventually, though, she had to breathe, and she broke it off.

He leaned forward, chasing after her lips, but she giggled and turned her head to the side, too busy recouping her oxygen losses to head back for seconds.

And then she realized that everyone in the room was staring at her. She realized, just after that, that Loki's arms had come around to encircle her while she was busy with his face, and she was now pressed up against the prince of mischief in an extremely compromising position.

Way, way down deep beneath the haze of booze, alarm bells began to clang. But they were awfully far away, and Bea's head was too light to pay them any mind.

She giggled, smiling at them all, and declared, "I feel really dizzy."

Then she passed out. Her last conscious thought was that the hangover would _so_ be worth it.

**A/N: You know those times when Life pops in and says, "Yo! Got plans? Yeah? Eh, forget it, I've got more pressing things for you to do." It was one of those. Quit my job, grandma went to the hospital (better now, though, no worries), back on the job hunt and trying to find a reliable car...Yeah. So that's my list of excuses for the day. Hopefully you can all forgive me, because I loves you all just bunches and bunches, and I really had no idea what I was doing with this chapter until Natasha turned up and said, "Hey, you're going to a New Year's party." Then my muse remembered what it was doing and life got better. So, I might have had a leave of absence, but I feel that the bomb I just dropped on your heads makes up for it. **

**If you have time, please review. I like conversations. They let me pretend I have a social life.  
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**Replies to Anons:  
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**Guest: Thanks for the review! I chucked a bit of a red herring at everyone, but I just blew up the team's brain, so I hope you can forgive me. Thanks again for the review!  
**


	22. In Which Ducks Dangle

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 21: In Which Ducks Dangle

The hangover was so not worth it.

She had gone to ground, meaning that she had not left her apartment for three days, and every possible entry point (including her twelve by six inch vents) had been rigged with empty bottles and cans. If Clint decided to off her in the middle of the night, she wanted at least that much warning. It was stupid to suppose a few jangly bits of glass and aluminum would serve to dissuade a true assassin, but Bea lived in hope. Someday, she might just get lucky. She'd thought getting a job with Stark Industries had been luck. It had not. It had just helped snag Loki's attention. And helped her make friends. Friends she'd just betrayed by snogging the enemy. What kind of person _did_ that?

Bea, apparently.

Soon she would be out of toilet paper, and then she'd have no choice but to go out into the big ugly world. Well, she did have a choice, but the other options were too icky to be considered.

She was already out of milk, eggs, all fresh veggies, and half of her fresh fruit. If this cloistered lifestyle was to be maintained, she would have to radically change her diet. When she went out for t.p., she'd buy a few boxes of ramen. That would keep her fed for weeks. Then she could stay happily hidden away in her cozy cocoon of denial, waiting for her boss to stop signing her checks. Then she'd be happily hidden away in her cozy cardboard box of denial, because she'd be homeless.

Who was she kidding? It was a miracle Natasha hadn't come to kill her while she slept already. It was a bigger miracle that Tony hadn't come swooping down in the Iron Man suit and blasted out a few windows on his way to pulverizing her. Steve was probably to thank for that. If she ever worked up the nerve to face the light of day again, she owed that man cookies. Boxes and boxes of cookies. Maybe Doctor Banner had helped. More cookies for him. And some sort of Indian bread. What was that good stuff called? A nan?

She'd have to mail them their treats, though, because she was never setting foot in Stark Tower ever gain. Sooner or later, Bea would have to email her official resignation to Pepper. The other option (the more honorable option) would be to call – or, better yet, go in person – and tell her why she simply couldn't come to work ever again, because she'd buried her head so far in the sand a tomato plant was growing out her butt, and it would be unkind to squash it by sitting in an office chair. But honorable people didn't go making kissy faces _with_ the team's arch nemesis, so her declaration of cowardice would be delivered via the most cowardly medium of all – the internet, the land with no faces.

.O.O.O.

Two days later, she was stocked up for the apocalypse – or a future without paychecks. Not really the apocalypse. There would be no microwaves after the apocalypse, and making her ramen would be a lot more time consuming. Open flames were fun, but risky. Especially when the whole world was against her.

"_It's the end of the world as we know it…"_

Even the radio had sided with the just and righteous ones who didn't kiss bad guys. A plague on REM and their twitchy song. It was the end of the world. And she did not feel fine. She was, in fact, suffering from a bad case of "I Kissed a Demigod and I Liked It".

The day couldn't possibly get any worse. She'd woken up with a headache, come to the realization that eating was a lot less enjoyable when your only choices were between chicken or beef flavoring with your noodles, and her favorite pencil had snapped. She decided she might as well send in her resignation, so she did. And exactly thirty four minutes later, she realized that her day could actually get much worse.

The first sign was the roar of a small jet engine – a very unusual sound in the middle of New York City. The second sign was a knock. At the window.

She looked up from her bowl of congealed ramen and stared at the closed blinds with all the dread of a mouse hearing the cat's purr. Between the slats, she could just make out a hovering shadow bobbing on the steady lift of Stark Tech repulsors.

How did she want this to end? He was gonna kill her. Probably messily. She could either hide like a coward or face the knock with all the composure of the Doctor's 10th regeneration, striding with controlled agony to meet his end. Her delusions of grandeur got her to the window, and with only slightly shaking fingers, she tugged down on blinds' chord.

It must have been a really funny scene to anyone who chanced to be watching: Iron Man, in all his shiny glory, hovering outside the window of a modest apartment five stories from the streets of Manhattan and facing off against a mousy office worker with old mascara smudged under her eyes and her favorite tatty sweater. She clutched the blinds' string like her life depended on it.

"Bea," Tony said, voice both amplified and distorted by the suit, "we need to talk."

"No." She meant to be cool. She came across as petulant.

"Yes."

"No."

"I can do this all day," Tony said, waving around at the empty air.

Bea gripped the chord. "So can I." Then she let go, and the blinds came slapping down.

"Bea…" There was no denying the warning in his tone. "Don't make me come in there."

She didn't bother answering. She just sprinted for the door. Probability of outrunning Iron Man? Zero. Chance of adding precious minutes to her life? Priceless.

Imagine her surprise when someone started knocking there, too.

"Bea?" It was Pepper's voice. "Is Tony in there?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Almost."

"I'll talk him down, just let me in."

Before she even realized what she was doing, she had the deadbolt back and the knob-lock clicked off. Only the little sliding chain kept the world from pouring in her front door.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Well, no." Pepper sounded genuinely confused. Maybe that was a good sign. "Steve and Clint are here with me." When she said 'Steve' Bea reached for the chain. When she said 'Clint' she changed her mind. Maybe it wasn't such a good sign. If Tony was on the warpath, Clint was probably frothing for her blood. He was, after all, the one who had suffered the most personal damage at Loki's hand… scepter… whatever.

"I think a blast to the head will be faster than Clint's methods," she said by way of apology.

She barely heard Pepper's squawked, "What?" before she was heading back towards the windows. Someone, probably Steve, grunted, "Step aside, ma'am," and commenced beating the living crap out of her door. The flimsy chain wouldn't stand up to much abuse from the super soldier, but that quickly became a secondary concern when the whine of Tony's charging repulsors filled her ears. It was fortunate that she had the good sense to dodge to the side, because seconds later the window exploded and Tony came sweeping in with all of his gleaming glory.

At the same moment, the door gave up the ghost and went crashing to the floor. The little chain had been as stalwart as the hinges themselves. Bea hadn't given it enough credit. Pepper was the first into the room, shoving past Captain America to physically restrain Tony. Honestly, she was probably the most effective restraint in the room. Even mad as a hornet, Tony Stark would never put his precious Pepper Potts at risk. That narrowed Bea's concern down to the two men charging through her broken door.

The window looked awfully inviting. So she decided to take a stroll… along the lip of stone that ringed the building. She'd just inched beyond the second window when Steve's head popped out the first.

"Miss… Bea!" he called, holding out a hand. "Just come back inside. It's not safe out here."

Glancing down the five stories between her and a messy death, Bea had to agree. But she was not going back. "Like it's any better in there."

It was like something out of an old silent film. The fool on the ledge, the friend inside emphatically waving their arms and trying to coax them back to shelter, the long, long drop…

"We've got Tony under control," the Captain said. He glanced inside. "Or should I say, Miss Potts has Tony under control." His eyes fixed on hers, and Bea wondered if his tenacious willpower alone would be enough to keep her from falling. "Come back inside, Bea. All any of us want to do is talk."

She gave him a very amused look of disbelief. It perfectly communicated the whole You're –telling-me-Iron-Man-did-not-just-blow-through-my-front-window sentiment.

And then it hit her. Guys. Plural. Two were accounted for. That meant Hawkeye was… She looked up. Sure enough, the jerk was repelling towards her down the face of the building. Why couldn't he just stick an arrow in her and be done with it? No need to draw things out.

Shooting Steve one last look of betrayal, she began to scoot away with renewed vigor. It was impractical to assume she could scoot faster than Clint could drop. The man was called Hawkeye for a reason. His gift with heights and all things related to them was uncanny. No, she would be bird bait before she ever reached a fire escape. So she did something tricky. It was cheating, but girls who kissed trickster princes and were then hunted by their former friends were supposed to be tricky cheating villains, right?

She froze time. Steve hovered halfway through mouthing another plea, so he looked mildly constipated. Clint dangled several yards above her with his hand outstretched – probably to grab her by the hair. Best of all, the wind stopped. It made scooting a little less complicated, and she made good time for the next several yards. As she inched across the face of the building, she realized a small group of gawkers had assembled below, most of them pointing and gasping, one jerk with his camera phone out, all of them assuming that the mighty Avengers were either ousting a criminal or trying to prevent a suicide. Bea hoped they thought she was just a jumper. If her face wound up on America's Most Wanted, all the Ben and Jerry's in the world wouldn't stem the flood of her tears.

Her confidence grew with each scoot. Soon she'd be at the corner. Then it was just a simple matter of making the turn, and making it a few more yards to the fire escape on the alley-side of the building. It was a good plan. Simple and to the point. Until she slipped on some moss. And down she went. As sailed downwards, she got a good view of the green patch in question – perfectly innocent to the untrained eye – but Bea saw destiny in that plant. It was green. This was all because she kissed Loki. Now she was going to die.

It was true, what they said – whoever 'they' were – girls who made out with bad guys never ended well. Now she was ending. And it was not well.

Reality jerked back into motion as she snagged hold of a drain pipe. As she swung there, clinging to the rusty metal with the tips of her fingers, the gathered heroes above let out a unanimous squawk (except for Hawkeye, who never showed surprise. Ever.). Tony's head was poking out above Steve's, and Pepper was ducking through under his arm, straining to see just where her former Head of Design had gotten to. The squawkers had been Steve and Tony, both surprised and displeased by this latest development. Pepper let out an actual girly shriek.

Then she began to pound on Tony's arm. "You get her back in here this instant! This is your fault! Go get her right now!"

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" And, to give Tony credit, he actually was. He was flailing around, looking for his helmet, and trying to clear the window all at once. Was he trying to save her because he wanted her to live, or because he wanted to do the honors himself?

The pipe gave an ominous groan, and Bea wagered she wouldn't find out.

Clint was descending at an amazing clip, but Bea's fingers were slipping even faster. It would be a miracle if she didn't lose a fingernail before the end, because – dang it – she wasn't ready to play pancake. To make matters worse, the world kept starting and stopping in rapid fire clips, sound and sensation crashing back into her the moment they disappeared, and then vanishing all over again. It was like watching Youtube through a shoddy internet connection.

More people gathered below, intrigued by the girl who kept flickering into new positions. From what she could gather in the quick bursts of time, Steve was trying to calm her down, urging her to stop stopping time.

Easier said than done, chum. He should try dangling five stories in the air by his fingernails and prevent his powers from kicking in.

Three things happened at once. She heard a crash of thunder. Someone touched her shoulder, and she finally lost her grip on the pipe. Time stopped. Sound died. She closed her eyes, bracing for the fall, and tried to stifle her own screams as the wind whistled past her ears.

And then she realized she wasn't dead.

There was, in fact, a burly arm locked around her belly, and her cheek was pressed against something cold and metal. She opened her eyes and realized that she was getting an airlift, courtesy of one Thor Odinson.

Yay? Should she be worried? Was she saved? Was she deader than dead? How did he feel about his friend and ally getting cozy with his brother?

Was he turning against the Avengers to save her?

No way.

But he did stick up for Loki.

Possible way?

Maybe. Definitely maybe.

He landed on a roof and set her down like she was a delicate as a toaster (a very delicate object, indeed, in the hands of Thor), and peered around with open curiosity. But he kept one hand clasped loosely around her arm.

"Is this always the manner of the world when you halt time?"

Bea glanced around at the view. People stopped in the street, curls of steam frozen mid-puff, a sea gull frozen inches above the bird bomb it just dropped…

"Yeah."

"It is very quiet," Thor mused.

Tossing a shrug, Bea let her thoughts drift back to her previous quandaries. To die or not to die… "Only us to make noise."

"Yes." Thor frowned. "Us. I was unaware that you had gained the ability to halt time for others as well."

"So was I. Then I fell off a building. Surprise!"

"Loki is correct, then." His hand tightened on her arm in a gentle squeeze. It might have been threatening if it weren't for the warm expression on his face. "Your powers are increasing."

The first shadow of a migraine scratched at the back of Bea's mind.

"I can't keep it up for long."

"Well." Thor guided her to the edge of the roof and they both took a seat. "I shall speak quickly, then. But we must speak, Bea. It is about Loki."

Of course it was.

**A/N: So, yeah. Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic. Whatcha think?**

**Replies to anons:  
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**Too lazy to log: Aw! Thank you! I was kind of thinking that as I wrote it, too. Then she did it. Yup. Thank you so much for all the kind words!  
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**ItsMe: Well, thank you very much! Those are some serious compliments! And, yes, those are Doctor Who references you see. I dropped a whole LOAD of geek references in the final scene of the last chapter, but so far no one else seems to have picked up on ANY of my references. So well spotted! Cake and tea for thee!  
**


	23. In Which it is About Loki

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 23: In Which it is About Loki

"_It is about Loki."_

Of course it was. Everything was about Loki these days. Even the freaking moss was about Loki, all green and all.

"Are we gonna talk about his helmet?" Bea asked, angling for a diversion from The Inevitable Discussion. "Because those horns, man, I just don't know. On one hand, he can just about pull them off, and they definitely make a statement. But on the other, they make him look like a goat…"

"No, I do not wish to discuss my brother's ceremonial armor with you."

Ah, well, that diversion just gave up the ghost. She peeped out across the frozen city, only daring to take her eyes off the alien prince for an instant. "I guess we couldn't just talk about the weather?"

"Bea." There was so much authority in that word, authority and disappointment and outright command.

Bea had never hated the sound of a voice quite so much. She shrank back a ways, dropping her eyes to the graveled roof and scuttling to the left. Her lip wound up between her teeth, and she realized that her hands had knitted themselves together behind her back. Stupid reflexes. He wasn't a drill sergeant. Just an alien prince from another planet/dimension/realm with god-like powers and a wicked temper.

He deflated with a sigh and dropped to sit on a low wall ringing an air conditioning unit. As he arranged his thoughts, his fingers combed over his beard, and his eyes pinched at the corners. Bea didn't sit next to him, but she took a few rolling steps forward, keeping to her toes, ready to hop back in the princely command returned to his posture.

"It has… dawned on me," he said, "that my brother's interest in you should concern me."

Bea blinked. "Uh… it's concerned me for, well, a _while_ now, actually. So, sorry, but – that's not big news. I think you're the only one who wasn't worried since he locked me in a closet."

His eyes closed, and he sucked in a breath that dangerously inflated his shoulders again. Bea watched them rise with apprehension, but they sank back down as soon as the breath was released. "I had hoped, perhaps childishly, that because of your abilities, he might consider you a worthy peer, perhaps as a potential ally. But recent events…" He blushed. The big bad demi-god blushed. It was precious. "Certain happenings have changed my view."

"I know, I know. I'm not good enough for your kid brother. Are you gonna sit out on the porch in the rocking chair with a shot gun in your lap the next time I come to call?"

"No. That is not what I mean. I have seen this before."

"You mean you've seen him kiss a girl? How old are you guys, again? I would imagine he's kissed someone before."

"It's a game he plays."

"Is that an innuendo?"

"You were brave enough to address my father as an equal," Thor said, red streaks of temper coloring his tone. "Be brave enough to face the consequences of your actions. I mean that he is manipulating you. I have seen him woo young women before as part of some larger scheme. Loki does nothing without a purpose. Once that door was open to him, he went down that path. I think… for a time he didn't know what to make of you. He was in no position to conquer, and you were of no mind to be seduced, but now? Now he recognizes the board that is set before him. He will play the game to its conclusion."

Well, why was she surprised? She'd followed the script and played the scene to drunken perfection. By crossing that line, she'd wandered into sticky territory. Relationships were complicated enough. Unofficially declaring that she carried a torch for her former captor and present stalker was a whole new level of messy. But she knew she was just being stupid; she hadn't considered what it would do to Loki. All those late night conversations – he was trying to riddle her out, get in her head and understand what part she played in this circus. He could simplify the issue now. Any headway he'd made away from villainy and other old habits was lost.

"So what do we do about it?" she asked. "What, specifically, do you want _me_ to do?"

Thor met her eyes. "Prove him wrong." He rose and closed the gap between them in two long strides. His hands dropped like lead weights onto her arms. "Show my brother that you are not the simple girl he can woo into submission. Allow Stark to have his way and train more vigorously. Make yourself an opponent, not a target."

Scoffing, Bea tried to shrug off his grip. "You want me to be a superhero? Get real, Thor."

"I understand that this is not what you want," he said, "that you resist because you fear for your freedom of determination, but my brother is a master of manipulation. If you do not fight, he will win, now or later, it does not matter. You have all you need to be great, Bea, that is why my people fear you and my father seeks an alliance. Use that strength for yourself rather than allowing others to direct it."

But that wasn't true. His hands hadn't left her, and she stopped trying to throw them. She felt pathetic. She was pathetic. Actions spoke louder than words. "You're all heroic and mighty and pretty, and I'm just a nerd who got the world's worst consolation prize in the genetic lottery."

"That is not true."

"Oh, come on. You're a friggin' prince, Thor. How can you look at this," she made a sweeping gesture over herself, "and see a superhero."

Thor, ever the champion, stepped up to the challenge. "I saw a hero when a young woman with no kingdom or title stepped up to my father and spoke to him as an equal."

The best she could do was shrug. It wasn't like that counted. "He should get together with Director Fury and have a long discussion about life without depth perception." Her snark was worth the look of half-quashed amusement on Thor's face. "That just means I have issues with authority. I run away from all the real problems."

"Retreat is often a sign of wisdom."

"Now you're just talking out of your butt, and you know it. Why don't… ugh." She sat down abruptly, her stomach heaving. The light became angled points, drilling through her eyes and into her brain, and she watched the roof tip just for her.

"Bea?" Worry written over his face, Thor took a knee beside her and settled his big meaty hands on her shoulders. "Are you unwell?"

"It's nothing," she said, trying to shoo him away. It was like shooing an elephant, though – he didn't give a crap. "I just… I can't keep this up for much longer."

"Allow time to resume," Thor said quickly. "I will see you safely home."

The roof was tilting one way, but the horizon was angling the other direction. Her world was stretched between the two twisting points of view, and a vicious stab of pain arched from her temples to the base of her neck. Her wince didn't go unnoticed.

"Bea." His voice was softer, like he understood something she didn't. Bea hated when people did that. "Let go."

Her migraine didn't give her much of a choice. Her grasp on time slipped, and everything snapped back into action. The wind blasted in her face, and it was lights out.

.O.O.O.

Bea woke to the mother of all migraines pounding behind her eyes. She didn't dare emerge from the covers, or even look around the room. If she moved she might explode, and just lying still was the best she could do at the moment. It was only when she realized that her sheets were suddenly made out of silk that she forced her concrete lids to rise.

This was not her bed.

Awake, she peeked past the sleek white comforter at the space beyond.

This was not her room.

Her eyes roved to the window, through which an intolerable amount of bright sunshine was stabbing. There were skyscrapers out there, and she was pretty sure she could see the glittering waters of the bay between the sharp towers.

This was not her view.

Risking spontaneous combustion, she pushed herself up and tried to get her bearings. There had been the roof with Thor, and then a whole lot of nothing. Where had the blonde bombshell taken her? She swung her feet out of bed just as the voices approached in the hall.

"Tony, if you go in that room, I swear, I will take a job at Microsoft."

"No you wouldn't. Maybe Apple, but you were never a Windows kind of girl. She's gotta be awake by now, and the windows on this floor don't open, but with the things she's been pulling out of her butt this last week, I'd feel better if I knew she wasn't dangling down the side of the building by her bed sheets. Now move – please?"

"No."

"Pepper …"

"Tony, no."

"Pepper, yes."

"You see? This is what got you in trouble last time."

Tony's huff was audible even through the closed door, and Pepper's voice gentled.

"Of course she thought you were coming after her when you blew out her window. Even I'd freak out if you did that to me. For different reasons, of course, but still… Tony, you have to slow down. She's shaken up. Can you blame her?"

"Of course not! I'm shaken up, too. She kissed Loki, Pep. Right there in the living room."

"And clearly it's affecting her."

"Kissed. Loki."

"She thinks you hate her, Tony – thinks we all hate her."

"Snogged."

"And you've never made a mistake when _you_ were drunk?"

"I think they made it to first base. Maybe second."

"Oh, grow up. You've made your feelings pretty clear to the greater metropolitan area with that little apartment stunt. You're angry, Tony, I understand. I get it. But what do you think she's feeling?"

Sitting on the side of her bed, Bea closed her eyes and tried to swallow down the bile creeping up her throat. Ramen barf. Gross.

She couldn't do a heart to heart right now, not even with Pepper acting as referee. She knew that if she looked in the muddy mess of her conscience, she'd be able to label each and every feeling therein. But she wasn't ready to. She didn't want to. So she slipped the cover off the air duct and crept inside.

A few minutes later, she was comfortably lost and well away from any easy access points. The number of folks who could climb in looking for her was small. There were the two assassins, of course, and Pepper could probably fit, but Bea knew the businesswoman would be loathe to crawl around in all the dust with her nylons and pencil skirts. Most likely it would be Hawkeye who'd find her. If she was really, really lucky, he'd be out on assignment. Unlikely. Only a few hours ago he'd been repelling down the side of her apartment building. She doubted he'd leave the city before he finished the job, and right now, the job seemed to be sorting out Bea.

But not like she thought.

Tucked in a cobwebbed corner, decked out in satiny Stark Industries pajamas, Bea blocked out the world with the palms of her hands, nestling her face into the dark cushions of skin and pretending that this was all some cracked-out dream.

Her life wasn't what she thought. None of this was real. She'd fallen in with some bad characters in college and gotten monumentally high. Everything since then was just a druggie's acid-laced fantasy.

If only her name was Alice.

The World of the Hands was very confining, and soon she surfaced, letting her head tap back against the wall and her crossed wrists dangle over her knees. How long could she keep avoiding everyone? That depended on how long it took them to realize she was missing, and that probably depended on how long it took Tony's patience to run out. So… she probably had a few minutes. A shadow moved at the corner of the duct, and Bea realized she'd run out of minutes a while ago.

"Hey, Clint."

"Bea."

There it was, the cool collected calm of an assassin. Now that the blind panic from the apartment had worn off, Bea felt like an idiot for assuming that Clint would try to off her. She felt even more ridiculous for assuming he would lower himself down the side of a building to knife her instead of just shooting her like a normal target. Clint didn't get all touchy feely with his kills.

"Sorry for, well, freaking earlier. I was… freaked."

Clint made a noncommittal hum, then said, "Tony's an idiot."

"This is news?"

A snort, and Clint came creeping down the narrow air corridor, coming to settle barely two feet away from Bea's pretzel arrangement. "We were worried. If you stopped time and fell…"

Bea sighed. "Yeah. I know. It was really close to being really messy. I said I was sorry."

"Wasn't fishing for another apology." He turned his horribly steady eyes on her, and Bea wondered what he was seeing. Clint wasn't like regular people, and his eyes weren't like normal eyes. When he looked at you, he wasn't seeing what everyone else saw (that pimple hiding in the fold of your nostril, the dark rings under your eyes, your _hot_ shoes…). Sure, he saw those things, but he could kill something hundreds of feet away without even turning to glance at it. There was something sharper in the way he watched people, and something calmer, too. He read people like a menu. There were no surprises in his world… until his pet duct monkey went and snogged his arch nemesis. It was impossible to hold his gaze, and Bea let her attention drop to her knees while she waited for the inevitable reproach. Beside her, Clint blew a gust of air through his nose that was almost a sigh. Almost.

"When you go back out there, everyone's going to have a lot of questions."

For a second, she tore her eyes away from her knees to sneak a peek at Hawkeye. "And you don't?" He was watching the opposite wall, but when she asked her question, he turned to look at her, and she snapped her focus back to the smooth material sheathing her legs.

"I don't have any questions."

That was either the cue for the world's biggest sigh of relief or hair-raising terror.

"I don't have any questions," Clint repeated, clearly spotting the direction her thoughts were spinning, "because I don't know what to ask." She looked him in the face and finally managed to hold his gaze again. "I don't understand the situation. Once that's clarified…" he shrugged, "maybe then I'll have some questions."

Maintaining eye contact, she blinked. Slowly. Twice. "I so don't understand what you want me to do right now."

"You don't pretend," he said, looking away to address the wall. Apparently, deep thoughts were best delivered sans eye contact. "You're too busy trying to keep your feet under you to spit a convincing lie, so you don't bother. That's a good thing." He crossed his arms. "And whatever happened in your head – it's eating you alive. Only a desperate woman tries to escape out the window. You always tell the truth, and you want to tell it. So that's why I know you'll tell me the truth about what happened with Loki. No questions necessary."

"Clint?"

He glanced back at her.

"When did you go to shrink school?"

The silent smirk that spread over his face was not comforting. "Never mind. Super sniper stuff. Don't want to know."

The smirk grew, and Bea closed her eyes. She let her head fall back against the wall with a grunt, savoring the artificial dark behind her lids.

"You're right," she said at length. "I can't lie worth a crap. I'll tell it straight." Opening her eyes, she peered sullenly at the archer. "But I only want to tell it once. I'm not gonna deal with this whole rigmarole twice. Or thrice… or whatever. Just." For a second her eyes slipped shut, and she was desperately tempted to keep them that way. The migraine was still nibbling at the back of her brain with a vengeance, and all those nasty green thoughts kept swirling around with no regard for order or repression. But Clint waited patiently until she looked at him again, holding still as a stone, waiting for the answers he knew would come – sooner or later. "Just get everyone together for me, alright?"

A nod and he was gone, disappearing down the duct, barely even stirring the dust as he passed.

Just then, Bea would kill to be that sneaky. Invisibility sounded nice.

**A/N: Invisibility sounds nice for me too, right about now. I have a marvelous (and valid) excuse, though: my brother's family moved to the other side of the country, so I was busy cramming in some serious aunty time with my niece and nephew... and starting a new career, but mostly - niece and nephew. The long and the short of it is, I love you all, but they are cuter, so when forced to make a decision, you lost. But now they are gone, and I'm yours once again. This chapter was a nightmare and came in mangled bits and pieces that finally made a whole. Looking forward to the next installment, where plot returns. **

_**Thank you all (you beautiful, beautiful people) for your support! Your reviews mean a TON! After the last chapter, they weigh a ton,** **too!**_


	24. In Which Babysitting Begins

Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.

Chapter 24: In Which Babysitting Begins

Clint assembled the Avengers in one of the Tower's cozier sitting rooms. They were all fairly upset, but they all came, and Bea watched them gather from the cover of her vent with rising trepidation. As she had heard earlier, Tony had no qualms voicing his frustration and confusion, and Pepper (who was practically an Avenger since she was an essential component of Iron Man) had no qualms telling him just as loudly to _calm the heck down_. Steve's mouth had that stiff downward bow that meant he was displeased but trying to be professional about it, and Agent Romanoff was making an ice sculpture look like a good snuggle-buddy. Utterly frigid. Utterly. Worst of all, Bruce was polishing his glasses… over… and over… and over… if something didn't happen soon, he would either hulk out or rub right through the lenses… which would probably make him hulk out anyway. It was a lose/lose situation. The only calm one was Thor, and he didn't really count since he'd had a chance to talk to her already. Clint was also calm. He assumed his usual position crouched on a reversed chair, arms draped over the back.

Leaving the air duct was a physically painful process. All the eyes drilling into her were like daggers. Sharp daggers. With serrated edges. She didn't try to really join the group, but dropped straight from the wall vent into a cozy couch conveniently located directly below. And there she nestled, coiled to spring back into her (somewhat) safe place if anyone made a move.

Tony, who'd been fiddling with his phone, trying to pretend between angry outbursts that he didn't care in the least about his rogue Head of Design, drawled, "Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do."

"Yeah." She crossed her legs beneath herself and cowered in her pajamas. "I kissed Loki. And I've been very dramatic. Sorry."

"And stupid," Tony said, refusing to look up from his phone. "Don't forget stupid."

"And stupid," Bea agreed.

Her boss finally forsook his texting and turned his full attention on Bea, lips tight and eyes sharp. "I mean, what happened? Did he scramble your brain? Invade your head? Use his pervy moodstone to swing you his direction?"

"No." Oh, fudge monkeys, this was embarrassing. She fiddled with her sleeve, trying to make out the pattern of the tight weave. "He's a pretty guy, and I was really drunk, and there's really nothing else to tell."

"It's Loki, Bea. There always something else to tell."

"Fine," she quipped. "Then you tell me."

"How about, I don't know, the fact that we can't trust you now?" Tony asked. "If you're so impulsive that you lock lips with your sworn enemy in full view of _us_, what else might you do when the fancy takes you? Was this a fluke, or have we just been lucky there weren't more scenes like this?"

"There's another problem," Agent Romanoff said.

"Of course there is," Bea said as she flopped back on the couch.

From his perch, Clint explained, "Director Fury wants Bea taken into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody."

Pepper squawked. "What?"

Tony discretely cupped his wrist, where his swanky armor-summoning bracelet rested. He never took off since his trip down the side of his own tower. "Sorry, Legolas, but Cyclops doesn't get to exercise the right of eminent domain on my Ducky."

"If we planned to follow orders we wouldn't have told you," Romanoff pointed out.

"Specific reason you're not following them?" Bruce asked.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s demonstrated they're not capable of acting responsibly with…" Clint's eyes snagged Bea's, then snapped away, "explosive ordinances."

"Nice, Clint," Bea said. "Very tactful."

He offered a silent mock salute.

"That settles it," Tony said. Jabbing a finger at Bea, he added, "You, missy, are grounded. You kissed the bad guy, made a public spectacle of yourself, and now you've made Daddy Fury angry. You're in big trouble." Half the liquor in his glass went down the hatch. "You are not leaving my tower. Again. Ever."

"You're my boss, Stark, not my dad."

"Bea," Steve said, "we might not be family, but we care about what happens to you."

"And I may not be your dad," Stark said, "but I'm bigger than you, and my AI runs this place. If I say you stay – you're staying."

"You're a jerk."

"You're an idiot."

"You both need to shut-up," Clint said, "so we can work through this." He shifted on his chair. "S.H.I.E.L.D. won't launch an assault on Avengers' Tower, not with an alien army in-bound. If we keep Bea out of reach and make our stance clear, they should back down. The biggest problem is Loki."

Understanding dawned in Thor's eyes. "We will be sharing a roof with Lady Bea."

"Roof? Try floor." Tony swallowed the last of his drink. He glared at the exposed ice cubes like they were to blame for the liquor's sudden disappearance.

"It is more complicated than you suspect," Thor said. "My brother believes he has the upper hand. His confidence has been restored, and he will do everything in his power to sway Bea into an alliance."

"I'm not gonna go darkside or anything," Bea muttered.

"Of course not," Tony said. "You're only willing to make out with Darth Vader. Totally different."

"Um, of everyone in this room," Bea said, sweeping her arm to include all of the crew, "you are the least qualified to tell me where I should and shouldn't put my lips. Just saying. Thanks."

"She does have a point," Pepper said. It was difficult to tell if she was defending one of her favorite subordinates, or just rubbing salt in an old wound.

"Gentle, Pepper. We've talked about this."

"I'm just saying," she said, voice rising in pitch, "that you should cut her some slack. She knows she messed up, and if you don't let this go, I swear, Tony Stark…"

"I'll try," Tony snapped. His arms folded over his chest, and he pouted like a child. "But she's the one who messed up, not me."

"We've established this," Bea said. "Can we move on now?"

"The problem Loki presents does need to be addressed," Thor said, leaning into the conversation. "Clint Barton is correct: my brother is our most immediate concern."

Bruce shrugged. "Then we keep them apart."

"The floor's not that big," Tony said, sounding almost disappointed. He must've considered that plan already. "But we can keep interaction to a minimum, and we can keep a minder with little miss deviant over here so she doesn't have to face the creep alone."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Jerk."

"Bimbo."

"Moving on," Romanoff said. "I volunteer to stay with Bea for the first shift – we'll say twelve hours. I'm not looking forward to telling Fury that we're flouting his orders." She glanced at Clint. "Again."

.O.O.O.

It only took a few minutes to wrap up the last few details (like who was going to grab Bea's stuff so she didn't have to live in Stark Industry pajamas for the rest of her natural life – Pepper was assigned the task, thank heaven. Bea wanted fresh underwear in the coming weeks, and she was pretty sure Steve would garrote himself before touching a woman's bra.). After that, the band, well, disbanded, and Bea was left in an awkward silence with one Agent Romanoff, who proceeded to whip out her pistol and subject it to a thorough disassembly and scrubbing. Bits of gun were scattered across the coffee table. Bea pulled her feet up onto the couch, afraid the thing would spring back together of its own accord and shoot her. Natasha gave her a look – just one look – and she returned her feet to the floor, folding her hands primly in her lap.

First Thor and now Romanoff. Once this was all over, Bea needed to see a shrink to address her apparent inclination towards easy subjugation… and that led her train of thought straight back to Loki.

Time to break the awkward silence and the thrice-blasted Train-to-Loki.

"So…what do assassins do for fun?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows, continuing to clean her weapon.

Bea glanced down at her folded hands. "Oh."

Smirking, Natasha reassembled the gun and set it aside. "Am I making you nervous, Bea?"

The truth? Well, it wasn't like she had any dignity to save at this point… "You scare the living crap out of me."

This answer seemed to please the assassin, because she smiled again and finally put away the gun. "Well," she said, "I guess we can't sit in here all day."

Bea glanced at the door, struck by the sudden understanding of what lay beyond it: Loki's Domain. She was leaving the safety of the safari jeep, and asking to trip off through the tall grass towards Pride Rock. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.

"How about… we just hang around in here a bit longer?" she asked.

Cocking her head and making no effort to hide the sadistic smirk on her face, Natasha said, "You'll have to face the music sooner or later. Might as well get it over with."

"I'm pretty sure I'd prefer the later option, actually."

"Compromise. We'll leave the room" – Bea groaned – "and then we'll go to the training room, and we can lock ourselves in for a few hours."

Bea popped upright. "Yes. So much yes."

Rising more languidly, the agent asked, "You do know I'll expect you to train as long as we're in there."

"Oh, I understand. I'll train all night. Let's go."

They made it without any Loki encounters, and Bea had never been so happy to see the Torture Chamber in her entire life. But Natasha had a point to make, and she made sure Bea lost her enthusiasm very quickly. It only took a couple throws and one vicious arm-lock. Bea, however, refused to admit defeat. She danced around the mats with the master assassin, hands taped and sweat drenching the stray hairs dangling from her ponytail, looking as menacing as a fluffy pet rabbit in her pajamas – by the time they finished, Pepper would be back with fresh clothes, and neither Bea nor Natasha felt any guilt over spoiling some of Tony's property. If Bea was a rabbi, Natasha was an especially dexterous fox. Over the next hour, Bea was introduced to the mat in all kinds of intimate ways. They kissed, hugged, even performed the splits on accident. By the end, Bea and the mat were tight – they were blood siblings. Literally. There was enough of Bea's body fluids on that thing (blood, swear, tears, drool…) to make a significant impact in its genetic code. A DNA test would probably verify it.

After sending Bea to the floor (face-first, naturally), Natasha puffed a sigh and settled her hands on her hips. "Need a break?"

Bea groaned. "I think I already have… several."

"Hmm."

Bea rolled onto her back, but didn't bother getting up as Agent Romanoff sashayed off the mat and towards the water cooler.

"You know," Natasha said, winding the tape off from her hands, "Loki got the best of me, too."

From her place on the floor, Bea watched her upside-down version of Natasha with growing interest. "Really? I didn't think anyone got the best of you. Ever. I think you were born with wicked ninja skills. Even Clint cries a little inside when you're mad at him."

"Hmm." The assassin smiled. "He should." She tossed the tape in the trash, the mood growing serious as the sticky ball bounced off the side and into the basket. "I was interrogating Loki, and to get the information we needed, I had to get him to lower his guard, let him think he had the upper hand, that he was directing things. And to convince him that he was getting to me…I had to let him. I had to drop my defense and take the punches." She paused. "They landed harder than I was expecting."

"But you got the information, right?" Bea asked. "You still beat him."

Natasha snorted, and her curtain of red curls swayed. "Yes. But he got me, too. I was… compromised."

"Seriously?"

Natasha came back to sit on the mat beside Bea. "Seriously."

Bea stared blankly at the ceiling, contemplating the exposed beams and wondering how many times Clint had hidden up there, spying on his partner (girlfriend!) beating up his duct buddy. Didn't he ever worry that he might fall?

"How did you get past it? How did you make yourself… un-compromised?"

"You fix what needs fixing and get back into the fight," Agent Romanoff said. Her voice rang with the kind of clarity born of the strictest dedication.

Bea laughed. "You make it sound so easy."

"What part of that sounds easy to you?"

How many cobwebs were in those rafters? Did Tony have a ban against spiders in his pet tower, even though it no longer bore his name? "I don't even know what needs fixing."

"Then you know where to start."

Soundlessly, Natasha climbed to her feet and went to grab her gym bag – because she _hadn't_ come in pajamas. Bea followed numbly, physically and now emotionally exhausted.

"I'm sticking to what I said before," Natasha said, stopping at the door. "We won't let him get you."

.O.O.O.

Night in the tower was not so fun. Bea didn't leave her room after Natasha walked her back from training. The assassin said she'd spend the rest of her shift in the common lounge, and to just swing by if she got tired of staring at her own four walls… well, three walls and a window… But Bea didn't take her up on the offer. She had a serious wad of cud to chew. And she was tired. Mostly tired. She was good at repressing unwanted anxieties when she was at full power. But drained as she was, all those fears and frustrations came bubbling freely to the surface.

She was in a tower with Loki. Loki was in a tower with her. They were sharing a floor. And they were staring it with Thor, which meant that Bea's position would be broadcast – loudly – whenever she bumped into the darling lump of muscle. Tony still hated her. The Avengers were babysitting her. The end of the world was coming via unstoppable alien horde. Worst of all, sooner or later, she would have to talk with Loki.

Her eyes drifted shut, blocking out the twinkling view of nighttime New York, and she realized it would be sooner rather than later. She fell immediately into one of Loki's dreams.

She stood in a room full of broken mirrors, confronted on every side with fractured reflections of herself. For a while it was just her, but then her lonely doppelgangers shared the glass with a companion, and she felt a hand settle on her shoulder.

"You have a strange taste in dreams," he said.

"This isn't your idea?" Bea asked.

"No. This," Loki gestured at the endless glass, "is all from your mind. I merely stepped into it." He came around to stand in front of her, a smile that would have been charming on any other man adorning his face. "I think it's been too long since I last visited you here – in your dreams."

He reached out with the intention of touching her again, but Bea turned away and went to examine one of the shattered mirrors. Half the glass was lying in jagged pieces on the ground, and what was left was marred with web-like cracks. She looked her reflection in the face; a hundred eyes stared back at her above a dozen mouths.

"I feel I should point out," Loki said, humor coloring his voice, "that it was you who last made the advances in our… relationship."

Bea did him the courtesy of turning around before she answered. "You're right. I did kiss you. I was the instigator. I made a mistake." Her arms spread wide. "I take full responsibility."

He smiled, glancing at the floor – friendly, casual, condescending. A few careful steps brought his lips to her ear. "And you're so sure it was a mistake?"

"Allowing myself to be confused by you was a mistake," she said. "I have no doubt you're a good kisser. But you're a liar." He recoiled, and the first sensation of firm ground appeared in Bea's flailing mind. She could be strong like Natasha. She could get back in this fight. Her voice gained power. "You always have been – always will be. I imagined there was a solid core of truth _way_ deep down in that slippery soul of yours." She met his green eyes, and she didn't flinch. "And I'll never make that mistake again."

Loki smiled again, but this time Bea could almost feel the cold radiating from him in a physical wave. Goosebumps sprouted along her arms. "It is easy to speak of good intentions and high purpose in dreams. But your actions in the waking world belie your pretty speeches, my dear."

"The past is the past," Bea said. "I already told you I screwed up. But I'm gonna beat you. You'll be left with nothing but the broken pieces of your bleeding ego."

That smile… "Oh, but aren't you precious when you think you have power over me."

Bea snorted and put on her best city girl persona. Looking down her nose as best she could (a tremendous feat since the prince had about a whole foot on her), she planted her hands on her hips and sneered. "Don't underestimate me. I work with Tony Stark."

A/N: It's technically after midnight, but I'm going to cheat and say that I'm only posting this one day late rather than two... because I can. The end. Not really. So, a lot of reviewers pointed out that, well, they just want more Loki. REJOICE! She's now stuck in a tower with him. There will be lots of Loki. Lots. And lots. Of Loki. Brace yourself. And review.

Thanks to my tremendous readers! Your feedback makes me happy and reminds my muse that it has actual responsibilities, which is a good thing.

Replies to Anons:

Guest: Yay! Glad you liked the description! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter/got this far to see my response. Thanks for dropping a review!

ItsMe: Well thank you very much! So glad that you've been going to so much effort to keep up with this fic, and I am highly appreciative. I love references! Geeking is my life. I don't think I could write without them, so I'm glad you think I do them well. Thanks again for all your support! And if the zombies come knocking, I will definitely come in search of that tea.


	25. In Which There is Judging

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter Twenty-Five: In Which There is Judging

Loki didn't get even – he paid back with interest. Bea spent the rest of the night locked inside a grueling nightmare. Eyes pierced her, claws scrabbled for her, and through it all she was falling. Whatever she reached for turned to dust under her fingers. Nothing could stop the gut-clenching freefall. She kept tumbling until she crashed into herself – jerking awake in her borrowed room.

For the rest of the day she was understandably out of sorts. So it was unfortunate that Tony was her assigned babysitter. She dragged herself out to the common area and began rummaging around the kitchenette for coffee and filters. It would take a heavy dose of java to leverage her past the level of half-comatose. Supplies procured, she set the brew to percolate and turned around. Tony was parked on a couch, absorbed in his cell phone, sunglasses on and suit unrumpled. He had dressed the part of the playboy. That was bad news. That meant he'd gone into one of his roles, that he had his defenses at full capacity. And, as far as she knew, he was still mad at her.

"G'morning," she said. She tried to sound upbeat, but her vocal chords weren't up to lying yet, and the simple greeting came out a full octave below her usual range.

"Good morning," Tony said, still submerged in his phone. "Busy. You know, since my head of design is under house arrest and all…"

"Oh, come on." Ah. Closer to her usual pitch. "This was partially your fault, you know."

"Um, I'm sorry, but I'm not the one who decided to make kissy faces with the god of mischief."

"I'm sure you've made kissy faces with stranger people."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

The coffeemaker gave its last burp, and Bea dumped out a mug-full, flavoring it with half the contents of the sugar bowl. "You're a piece of work, Mr. Stark. I thought we'd already been over this."

"I don't see why we ever had to start it," Tony snipped. "When I hired you, I thought I was hiring _class_. We all thought you were the best investment of the entire scholarship program. Turns out we were right. And then – not so much."

Bea inhaled half her drink, closing her eyes and imagining the life-giving caffeine diffusing throughout her system. It was too early for this. And it was too late to do anything about the heart of the matter. A time bender she may be, but Bea couldn't change her past. Not yet, anyway. "Just tell me what you want me to say, Tony."

"Words aren't really the problem here."

"Then what's the issue?"

"Actions." He whipped off his glasses and looked her straight in the eye, dead serious. "I can't trust you, Bea. The end of the world is coming, and I need everyone front and center. But you're off making out with Thor's delinquent brother. Honestly, it wouldn't bother me if you got a boyfriend, even in a time of crisis. Everyone relieves stress in different ways. But Loki? He's hurt people important to me, and I thought those people were important to you, too."

"Hey, he kidnapped me twice, bedazzled my chest and locked me in a closet. I get it." Bea shrugged. "Thor wants us to forgive him."

"Thor also thinks Poptarts are the single greatest invention of the past century," Tony said. "The guy can't work a blender. Who's he to give us convoluted ethical advice?"

"Uh, do _you_ know how to use a blender?"

"Of course. How else would I mix drinks?"

"Nice."

"Is that judgment I hear?" Tony asked, cupping his ear. "From _you_, Kissy Queen?"

Allowing her frustration to get the best of her, Bea dropped (threw) her empty mug in the sink and devoted her full attention to the mounting argument. She barely noticed the ringing crack of shattering ceramic. "I can't change the past. I can't undo what I did. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! There. Is that enough for you yet?"

Tony snorted and donned his shades again. "You think I'm bad? Just wait until lover boy joins the party. Then the real fun will start."

"Oh, the fun's already started."

He actually glanced up from his phone again, but Bea ignored him in favor of marching out of the room.

A few moments later, Thor moseyed in, golden features askew with drowsiness and concern. "I heard raised voices. Is all well?"

"Peachy," Tony bit out.

Thor gave the sink a lingering, meaningful look, but didn't make a comment. Instead he retreated, leaving the Man of Iron alone to steep in his own frustration.

.O.O.O.

New York had a very particular set of smells. On the ground those smells ranged from block to block, but high atop the former Stark Tower, the city smelled like steel, hot dogs and diesel fumes. New York On High was a whole different world from New York Down Low. Both were kinda dirty, but On High had a special kind of freedom. There was sky and space and entirely too many sea gulls. If the building was tall enough, you could almost live among the clouds. Down Low the only clouds came up from the sewers on chilly mornings.

She wasn't quite used to it yet. She had a mixed history with heights, and it took effort to find the beauty in them. But she wanted to try, and she needed to escape the testosterone inside (Tony plus Thor plus Loki equaled He-Man Stand-Off). She could smell the manly grandstanding all the way in her room. It wouldn't surprise her if they hiked and started physically marking their territory. Tony and Loki in the same room was extremely uncomfortable for other reasons, as well. The first time it happened, Tony got thrown through a window. It was a painful reminder of how painfully stupid she'd been. Thanks to her freakishly un-cool abilities, she got to watch the nightmares play out over and over again. And because that particular bit of history was on everyone's mind, she had to watch Tony simultaneously arguing with Loki, texting on his phone and flying out the window – all at the same time. She'd been cooling her heels in various cupboards while Loki made his show as the Great and Awful, but the scars were still bleeding when she emerged. The damage was clear. Tony had been part of the damage. It was just too much.

So she gathered up some big sheets of paper from the floor's little office nook, dug her charcoal out of the bags Pepper brought, and marched out to the balcony armed with enough paperweights to keep all the paperwork in New York flat. She spread her gear and got down to work as quickly as possible. Ranks of seagulls, skylines and architectural wonders grew, rough and smudgy, mere sketches for future reference.

For a few minutes she didn't realize that she was sketching a Chitauri chariot zipping by the Empire State Building. Then she swore.

It was all crap. She came out here to escape from the monsters and the memories for just a little while, but now monsters and magic were just all her world contained. There's where one of the space whales landed and squashed three blocks flat. Below a thousand ghosts of New Yorkers and tourists caught in the crossfire. Above stretched the bright blue sky through which Loki ripped a hole into darkest space. It was there in her memories and there in the nebulous shreds of past fluttering specter-like in her vision.

With a roar, she threw the nub of charcoal as hard as she could, watching with glum pleasure as the wind snatched it up and yanked it in a new direction off the edge of the building.

"Have your tools offended you?"

The prince was standing beside her. Bea had no idea how long he'd been there or how much of her temper tantrum he'd been witness to. He was busy looking innocent, one of the greatest lies he'd ever told.

What made Loki's innocent face so obviously false was the dramatic contrast between his wide eyes and his usual closed expression. He was a talented liar, though, which led Bea to the inevitable question: what was Loki like before he went darkside? He'd always been clever, and he wouldn't have cultivated such an obviously insincere mask. That meant that when he first started practicing, it hadn't been so different from his usual expressions. It was a strange thought. Loki – innocent. Maybe even sweet. Kind might be a bit of a stretch.

"I don't think we should be talking," Bea said, picking up a new piece of charcoal. "The grown-ups don't like us chatting un-chaperoned. "

"And since when have their concerns bothered you?" Loki asked.

"Since I got stupid," Bea muttered.

"And…" Loki sank to sit beside her, "upon which date, exactly, did you become 'stupid'."

"Oh, I think you know which one."

"That was not folly. That was… enthusiasm."

"Enthusiasm?"

Loki grinned. "You were very inebriated, and I'm certain your memory of that night is foggy at best, but I was perfectly sober, and my memory is clear."

"Memory or fantasy, you perv?"

"All memory adopts an air of fancy."

"Pfft." She looked towards the Chrystler building, trying to focus on the white balloon spiraling up past its ranks of windows and not the visual memory of a Chitauri sled gunning down civilians."Thanks for the dreams, by the way. Nothing like waking up with an adrenaline rush."

"Oh, I would be happy to repeat the process this evening if it was so invigorating for you."

"Thanks but no thanks."

"Lies can get you into trouble."

"Yeah… I think that's the pot calling the kettle black. And I wasn't lying. I was just being sarcastic."

"Sarcasm is the art of painting a truth with the shades of a lie."

"Everything I said was true. I did wake up with an adrenaline rush. You would, too, if you spent the entire night stuck in a free fall. My thanks weren't really genuine, though," she admitted.

"And thus you prove my point."

"You know, I was busy. Doing stuff." She waved at the ocean of art spread around her knees.

"And I would be loathe to keep you from it," Loki said. "May I join you?"

Bea rolled her eyes. "You aren't fooling anyone, Loki. Stop sucking up."

The prince canted his head, and even though she knew it was just another ploy to continue their conversation, she couldn't resist rubbing her knowledge in his face (See? Who's the dumb bimbo to seduce now, huh? I know the game, dude, and I'm gonna toast you.). "You think because I kissed you I'm not a registered member of the Loki Fangirl League, and you can just win me over with a few bats of your eyelashes." She pointed at her chest. "Gift giving is clearly not your forte."

"And I'm sure this brilliant theory was offered by my brother," Loki said, the lightest flush of unconcerned mockery warming his words. He squinted towards the bay and the wind caught in his long hair. It was unfair that hair. It made Bea jealous. "This is no dalliance. I do not understand you, and a moment of drunken lust does not serve as a key to unlock every mystery. Any man who thinks so is a fool."

"I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you think of your brother as a fool."

"It should not." Pulling his eyes away from their glazed stare into the middle distance, he focused on Bea. "All I ask is you tolerate my presence. My _silent_ presence. It is irritating to remain any longer in the company of my brother, and this quiet retreat seems… pleasant."

There wasn't really a good reason to say no. Actually, scratch that. There were lots of good reasons to say no. But Bea couldn't think of any off the top of her head, and she was tired of arguing – with Tony, with Natasha, with Loki, with everyone. So she slid him a sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal and braced for the inevitable torrent of words.

To her surprise…he actually did what he said he would. Turned out he wasn't such a bad sketcher, either, though Bea didn't have the heart to tell him that horses had four legs, not eight.

.O.O.O.

She didn't go back inside for lunch, and she stayed out all afternoon, until the sun had set and the city's lights were making the ground brighter than the sky. Only Tony was still in the lounge (and still pretending to text; seriously, even he wasn't that popular). Bea side stepped the living area and made a bee-line for the fridge. She was feeling the need for ice cream.

"Wasn't your shift over, I don't know, _hours_ ago?" she asked. She refused to feel bad about eating her boss's food, so she grabbed the carton closest to the front, snagged a spoon from the drawer and sat down opposite the man himself, digging into her frozen treat with relish.

"I volunteered for a double shift."

"Why? So you wouldn't have to see me again for a couple rotations?"

"Because I need to figure out what the crap is going on in your head, Bea," he said. "I need to know why you did what you did, really know it, and know that I know it down in my gut."

"What are you, the Doctor? Straighten out your sentences. You want me to make you like me again? That's not how it works, you know."

"Liking has nothing to do with it," Tony said. "This is strategy. I need to know I can count on you, that this isn't a sign of something broken in the melon chamber. I thought I knew you pretty well, but it turns out I was wrong. So I've been looking for second opinions, and I have to say I'm disappointed by your lack of social media. I can't even figure out who your friends _are_, let alone where they live."

Bea closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. When she opened them Tony was still sitting there looking at her. Waiting. "I don't have friends, Tony. I have a job at Stark Industries, and a boss who hates my guts."

Tony Stark was bad for his employees' appetites. Suddenly sick of ice cream, Bea set her spoon in the sink and returned the carton to the freezer. She hadn't eaten any of it, not a single bite. That was a crime against taste buds. Her stomach was clenching, though, and there was nothing she could do to make it relax again.

She went to her room without any further conversation.

.O.O.O.

The next day, joy of all joys, she got to suffer twelve hours of endless, awkward, judgmental staring from – the one, the only Captain America! Hey, if she was gonna be judged, she might as well aim for the captain of the Holier Than Thou squad, right?

And it was awkward. And judgy. Awkward and judgy.

Bea emerged for breakfast, ate two whole eggs with a couple pieces of toast… and felt the judging.

She turned on the television and flipped to the scifi channel… and felt the judging.

She finally mustered up the gumption to say hello… and felt the judging. He said hello back, of course. He would've lost a merit badge if he was rude, but it was a very judgy hello. It just oozed judgment.

At lunch, she made herself a salad, and she thought she would escape, but then she grabbed a beer to go with it… and felt the judging.

Thor came out for a few minutes, wriggled awkwardly on the couch, and then banished himself rather than be party to the judging. Loki didn't even show his face. The judgment was just that strong – it would create a toxic substance if mixed with his murderous narcissism.

So Bea suffered the judging all by herself for ten hours. And then it was just too much. "Alright," she said. "There are two ways we can do this."

Steve (The Judge) sat up just a little straighter.

"We can talk like big kids, or I'm gonna have to pull your hair, because you're annoying and I don't know how much I like you right now."

The Captain released a very large sigh. "Bea…"

"A sigh is usually a bad start to a conversation," she said, shrugging. "Just sayin'."

"It's not my place to judge…"

Oh, _really?_

"…but you must know I disapprove your actions."

"Oh, that's not news," Bea said, leaning back and propping her feet on the coffee table. Heck, she was already far from his good graces. She might as well be comfortable. "You disapprove. Tony disapproves. Natasha disapproves. I disapprove. We all disapprove. Time to move on, don't you think?"

Another massive, moderately cliché sigh from the Captain. "Yes. You're right. It's just…" He paused, clearly torn between traditional chivalric values and the gruesome facts of the matter. "Loki?"

"Yes, Loki, I know. I'd tell you what I was thinking, but it's all kind of funny. I blame Clint and his dangerously colorless drinks."

"Alcohol is not an excuse."

"True, but it is a reason." Clasping her hands together between her knees, Bea leaned forward. "Here's what you have to understand. I'm a single woman in her mid twenties with no boyfriend and no social life to speak of. My only friends are people I can't talk to other people about, because S.H.I.E.L.D. might have to shoot me. To top it all off, I'm an alien. As weird as I thought I was, I'm no longer of the species I believed myself to be. So I get drunk, and there's a guy standing there, and he's made it clear he's interested in me, and I'm too drunk to do the smart thing and keep my lips to myself. It could've been an attractive intern standing there and I would've kissed him. Unfortunately, none of those have flirted with me, and none were invited to Tony's private party. So Loki. It had to be Loki. I was drunk. I was stupid. It was a mistake. The end. Fin. Over. Now can we _please_ move on with life?"

The Captain had the decency to squirm under her firm command, and Bea felt validated for the first time in days.

"About that," the Captain said, "I've been meaning to ask you… how do you plan to move on? Once we've stopped the alien invasion…"

Bea couldn't help it. She snorted. Alien invasion. Oh, holy patriarch of sock monkeys, when did that become a part of regular conversation? When had alien invasions become normal?

Steve cleared his throat, "Once we've stopped the invasion… what do you plan to do with yourself? Will you return to work with Stark Industries, or are you considering joining an agency such as S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I don't think the first option is even an option anymore," Bea said flatly. "But I don't really want to work for an agency. Too militaristic for me. Sorry, Cap."

"No offense taken," he said. "The army isn't for everyone."

"Definitely not for me," Bea said.

"Then what will you do?" he asked. "If not what you did before, or what the agents do… what?"

It was a fair question, and Bea took the time to formulate a fair answer. After a few moments' thought, she said, "Everyone tells me what they think I'll become, or what they want me to become. I'm not even brave enough to admit what I am. But until I accept that, I have no control over my destiny. If I want to make my own future, it's time to embrace the truth." Steve nodded, patiently waiting as she wound her way through the complex logic of the situation. "Once I do that… I don't know. I don't know what a time bender is supposed to do with herself when she's not saving the world. Maybe I'll offer living history tours or something."

For the first time that day, Steve laughed. "I'm sure they'd be popular."

"Heck, yeah! I'd be rich! I'd make this place look like Big Foot's lair."

"Miss Doe," Jarvis declared, "I would advise you to return to your quarters."

Bea and Steve shared a look. "Umm… why?"

"Because Director Fury is in the elevator. He's on his way to this floor as we speak."

Bea very nearly fell of the couch. Keyword being nearly… or perhaps very. Regardless, she did not fall off, but rallied her balance and managed to surge to her feet before tripping over the coffee table and landing face first in the carpet. Steve swooped down and hoisted her to her feet, but they'd lost precious time, and Bea only made it halfway down the hall before the elevator doors opened.

"Miss Doe."

That voice. It could freeze the sun.

"I think it's time we had a little talk."

Slowly, she turned. The Sassy Pirate was standing there in his usual leather coat and eye patch, hands folded behind his back.

"Take a seat, Miss Doe." His eye hardened. "Now."

**A/N: Well, I missed another week. Alas. But do not despair - there should be a lot more Loki and a lot more action in the next chapter! The final battle is approaching. Bea is an odd duck (pun somewhat intended). I sit down to write a scene, ready for her to flip out at Loki... and then she just talks with him. Poor Ducky. I think I broke her. **

**Please review! It makes all the difference in the world to an antisocial hermit like me. Hermits United only meets up once every ten years. In the meantime... there's you. BY THE WAY, a lot's still up in the air, so suggestions and requests will be seriously considered. The sketching idea from this chapter was due to a spark from a reviewer. Another spark from a review will burst into flame in the next chapter... not literally... maybe...**

**Replies to Anons:**

**ItsMe: Great to hear from you again! So happy you enjoyed the mirror scene. I have an odd fascination with mirrors. You wouldn't last long if the door was open all the time. We'll have to develop a secret knock or something. Thanks for the review!**


	26. In Which the Duck Meets the People

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 26: In Which the Duck Meets the People

Once upon a time, in a school district without bussing and a dismal graduation rate, Bea got sent to the principal's office. In all honesty, she was sent more than once, but there was one trip, her first trip, that stood out in her memory. She'd just joined a new foster family, and the big new school was intimidating to a petite eight-year-old. Another girl said she had ugly clothes, and Bea retaliated by throwing her juice box in the girl's face. And that was how she got a private interview with the head principal on her first day of class.

"I'm very disappointed," the principal had said, adjusting his glasses as he peered at her file. Less than twenty four hours since she stepped through the door and she already had a file – wouldn't her foster folks be proud? "Not surprised, lots of kids in your situation have trouble adjusting to new schools, but still disappointed."

This wasn't her first school, and this wasn't the first principal's office she'd landed in. It certainly wasn't her first lecture. But she'd never had a grown-up be so candid with her. Her wandering thoughts honed in on the man, sharply curious. And maybe a little offended. He expected her to fail?

"If you could stay out of trouble, you'd have the makings of an honor student," he continued. "I make it a point not to expect much from students who come to see me on the first day of class, but you deserve to know that you can do better. Two hours detention this Saturday. I'll write a note for your foster parents."

Bea decided she wanted to surprise him. She'd surprise the toupee right off his head. She'd be the best kid to ever attend this little hick school, and he'd never look at the reprobates across his desk the same way ever again.

A couple graduations, superpowers and an trip across space later, she was experiencing the same mingled nerves and determination as she sat across the coffee table from Director Nick Fury. Except this time she hadn't thrown her juice box at anyone. This time she got caught making out in the bleachers with the bad boy. Director Fury was much scarier than any principal could even dream of being.

"You want to explain to me why I have to come here in person to deal with you when I've got a planet-wide defense plan to organize?" he asked – only, it was Fury, and he knew everything, so he didn't really ask a question so much as he used the hollow form of one to carry his sass.

By the wall, Steve was folding and refolding his arms, glancing hopefully at the elevator, waiting for back-up to arrive. The man was a commander, sure, but he took the chain of command very seriously, and he had issues standing up to authority. No one wore the word 'authority' like Director Fury. Thor had surfaced at the sound of Fury's voice, and now stood behind where Bea sat on the couch, arms crossed, frown set. His experience with S.H.I.E.L.D. was limited, but the organization hadn't made a stellar impression, all things considered. Not awful, but not great. He certainly didn't trust them.

And then there was Loki, the green elephant in the room, lurking in the shadows by the kitchen. He just leaned there, watching, keen eyes drinking in details for later reference. Things would be a lot less awkward if Thor would just lock his kid brother in his room. But no…

"The Chitauri are less than two weeks out," Fury said. "There is just too much to do for you to be making problems, Miss Doe."

"So, I kissed a guy," she exclaimed, "what does that have to do with planetary security?"

"There's the matter of what _guy_ you kissed, for one thing," Fury pointed out, "but that's not what I'm here to discuss."

Bea blinked. "Really?"

"Really."

"Well… what, then?"

"When you refused to face the fall out of your bad decision like an adult, you made a heck of a scene. I guess you don't watch the news. People saw you 'blinking', people with cameras. Now I'm trying to deal with the rumors and the press when I'm not in video conferences with prime ministers and presidents. I don't have time for damage control."

"So, what? This is a visit to remind me not to dangle off the side of any more buildings?"

"This visit is to issue an order, Miss Doe. The order is this: you _will_ get a handle on these rumors, and you will do it now. Tomorrow, you're going to go public."

Everyone in the room stiffened. Secret identities were practically impossible to maintain once superpowers were revealed. Fury was asking a lot. Coming out super meant she could never pretend to be regular ever again. Everyone would know that Tony Stark's former head of design was a time bender.

Aware of the magnitude of his command, Fury raised his hands as he continued. "You can tell them as much or as little as you like, but you will explain that you are an unusual individual with unusual abilities and that you are now working with the Avengers…" Bea squawked, "…on a provisionary basis."

Yes. Now was a good time to panic. She would make a bad superhero, a terrible one, in fact, and she didn't share Tony's sadistic/masochistic obsession with the press.

"But…"

The Director didn't give her the chance to argue. "Do I need to explain what an 'order' means, Miss Doe?"

The chair swallowed her as she slumped down into the thick upholstery. "No, sir." Could she sound any more like a three-year-old? Her backbone had forsaken her. Traitorous skeletal frame.

"Good." Mission accomplished, the one-eyed god of vengeance rose and sashayed toward the elevator, leather duster swaying. The doors _pinged_ open and one very flustered Tony Stark burst through, hair ruffled, eyes bloodshot, clearly fresh from the lab. JARVIS must have alerted him to the arrival of the Sassy Pirate. It had taken him long enough…

Fury gave him the barest nod and breezed past him through the open door. "Mr. Stark."

Tony could only flap his mouth silently, trying to kick his brain into gear as the predator left the den. The door closed, separating Tony from the object of his bemusement, and the repeated _ping_ broke the spell.

"That. The _crap_. Just happened?" he asked, spinning on the life-size diorama of awkward superheroes frozen in his common room. He fixed his attention on Bea. Because it was always Bea's fault, of course. "What did Fury want?"

"My soul and your first born child," she said. "Nothing too dramatic." She rose from her seat, brushing off her hands like she'd just finished an especially dusty chore. "I'll be in my room in anyone needs me."

Tony frowned, his temper sharpening his voice and clipping his words short. "Bea, I want to know…"

"Don't care." She continued down the hall. "There were three other people here for the whole thing. Ask them."

"Bea!"

"Leave me alone, Tony."

.O.O.O.

Natasha took over from Steve that evening. The entire day, the Avengers' favorite time bender had stayed holed up in her room, not even surfacing for dinner. So Bea only knew the Russian had supplanted Captain America because the assassin came knocking at her door, armed with a duffle back and a stern glare.

"Time to practice," Agent Romanoff said.

And that was that.

Bea valued her life. One did not simply tell the Black Widow 'no thanks' and escape without a minor concussion, severe blood loss, or broken extremities. She donned the sweats provided and trotted along in the red head's wake as they wound their way into the windowless bowels of the tower – where the Russian could kill her quietly and without witnesses.

For the next hour, Bea spent her time flying through the air, kissing the mats, and building an alarming level of sympathy for Loki after his manhandling by the Hulk. Bea had never seen the Hulk. She was starting to think that there was none. The Hulk was just Agent Romanoff on a bad hair day. It was a valid theory – except for the fact that Agent Romanoff didn't have bad hair days. Ever. Her hair was invincible. At least it was comforting to know that, no matter how much she felt like she was dying, she couldn't be, because if Natasha wanted to kill her Bea wouldn't know it until she was staring vacantly into the eyes of St. Peter, blinking mindlessly up at the pearly gates.

Still sprawled where she'd landed after her latest flight, Bea groaned. "Is this supposed to get better, you know, the more times you do it? Like exercising?"

"Not particularly," Natasha said. "Why? Is it?"

"No, no. Just making sure I wasn't missing anything obvious."

"That is your specialty."

"Ouch."

"Truth hurts."

Bea shoved herself onto her elbows. "Not to miss the obvious, but is there something in particular you're referencing? I mean, not to be thick, but I feel like I've been missing a lot lately. Like sanity. I miss sanity. We've never been close, but we were pen pals for a while, and I kinda miss the old fart."

The Black Widow took a long sip from her water bottle, and it was the coolest water guzzling Bea had seen in her entire life. There was nothing concretely different about the act, but it was innately more awesome than any drink of water Bea had taken in her whole life in some intangibly incredible way. It just wasn't fair.

"Tony."

Her train of thought had sped so far past the conversation she had to shut down all traffic and haul the rusty locomotive back into the station before she could grasp the context of the name. Even then, she was confused. "Yeah. Tony's obvious. And easy. Obviously easy, even. What does that have to do with me?"

"You know he likes to put on a show when his feelings are hurt," Romanoff said, wiping the condensation from her bottle and flicking the glittering beads from her hand. "He doesn't like being at odds with you. All he needs is an excuse, an olive branch, and he'll be able to move on."

Bea sat up, drawing her knew to her chest. "Yeah. Not sure I'm ready to. Not sure why I'm the one who has to be the grown-up. Being the grown-up sucks."

"You have to be the grown-up because you've recognized that you can be," the agent said. When Bea didn't immediately respond, she softened, the glint in her eyes cooling to a muted simmer. "Relationships don't work because they're fair; they work because someone is willing to come up short. If you aren't willing to take the fall for your partner, you shouldn't have one."

"Tony and I are not partners."

"Oh, I know more than one agent who wouldn't hesitate to label the two of you partners in crime," Natasha purred, the simmer heating to a foxy gleam. A coy smile curled itself around her lips. "You're good for each other, and I think we all know it's time someone took the bullet and moved us past the Loki Incident."

"The Loki Incident? You named it?"

Romanoff shrugged. "Tony wanted to call it 'Reason One Why Ducky Should Wear a Chastity Belt'."

Cue flinch. "Oh, ugh… just… ew, oh… How can that man make an awkward moment into a lesson in perversion so effortlessly?"

"If I understood that man, I wouldn't push you so hard to kiss and make up." It took all of half a millisecond for her to see where that turn of phrase led. "Hm."

"Yeah." Bea pushed herself to her feet and started toward the door. "Might as well get this over with. I'm playing the bad boyfriend and dealing with him through texts."

A devious smirk fluttered over Agent Romanoff's face. "Where are you going?"

Dread froze Bea's spine like ice, and she heard it creak as she looked back at Natasha.

Her voice was light, and her smile was glowing. But there was evil in her eyes, a wicked mischief Loki would be proud to wear. "We're not done with practice yet."

"Crap."

.O.O.O.

_A new message has arrived in your inbox from _Ducky_._

Ducky: _Hi._

Bossy: _Your face._

Ducky: _I'm sorry, I love you, and you're the coolest boss ever. Can I have my job back?_

Bossy: _I don't hire criminal kissers._

Ducky: _Do you mean people who kiss criminally, people who kiss criminals, or people who kiss so bad it's criminal?_

Bossy: _All of the above. I only take the best._

Ducky: _What about time travelling ducks?_

Bossy: _Only if they don't make duck lips at visiting evil demigods._

Ducky: _What about time travelling ducks who can take passengers?_

Bossy: _Meh._

Ducky: _I'm offering you a lift._

Bossy: _Are you asking me out?_

Ducky: _Of course, sir. You're a beautiful, beautiful man. _

Bossy: _Flattery will get you everywhere._

Ducky: _You have fabulous hair._

Bossy: _I'm not gay, Ducky._

Ducky: _Your suits are hot._

Bossy: _Better. What kind of date are we talking? _

Ducky: _Wanna hide in my closet and help me prank the babysitter?_

Bossy: _Who's on first?_

Ducky: _Thor. And, just to be clear, time cheating may be involved. And a toaster._

Bossy: _Give me fifteen minutes._

Ducky: _You have ten. Run, Forest, run!_

.O.O.O.

Thor did not understand. He pushed the button down as he always did, but rather than returning his Pop Tarts, the strange device insisted on giving him some leafy vegetable. If he had inserted a vegetable, then he might have understood. But something horrible had happened to his snack, and he did not understand why. Until a few minutes ago, he wasn't even aware the machine was capable of such a function.

Down the hall, Bea and Tony were binging on an unspeakable number of cheap breakfast pastries. The migraine, for once, was really worth it.

.O.O.O.

When Tony Stark held a press conference, the world took note. And when the world took note, the reporters turned up in swarms. Doubtless they were surprised to find Stark's young, artsy, and socially disappoint Head of Design standing beside him at the podium. She'd never been the juicy bite of gossip expected from high ranking employees at Stark Industries, but Bea reflected, there was always time to change.

Her time was now.

Tony tapped the mic, signaling the start of the official media frenzy (as if the reporters hadn't been recording every blessed second since they stepped into the building), and began his opening remarks. "Thank you all for coming today. Now, I'm sure you're all here to learn about some new tech from Stark Industries," he physically brushed the idea aside. "Or some personal decision from our CEO." Another brush. "But the fact of the matter is, I'm not here to talk about me." He left his audience a moment to get past that before he plowed on. "But you won't be disappointed. You see…" he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, playing the charming little genius about to show off his newest toy. "I'm here to tell you about the newest addition to the Avengers."

And cue mass chaos. This was his specialty – stirring up the press – and he enjoyed it entirely too much. For about half a minute, Bea had never hated anyone (apart from Loki) as much as she hated Tony Stark. He just stood there smiling, bathing in the waves of attention and the _hilarious_ way Bea was glaring at him. She was focusing hard enough on his stupid grin to set his beard on fire.

A few of the reporters were cluing in now, putting the pieces together. New Avenger plus random Stark Industries employ equaled – Bingo! One by one, the cameras turned on her, ignoring Stark in favor of their new target. Bowing to the turning tide of public opinion, Tony clapped Bea on the back and beamed at the ocean of camera lenses and stabbing microphones. "Everyone, this is Bea. Bea, this is everyone. Say hello."

Awkwardly, Bea leaned up to the microphone, hands stiff at her sides. Her voice had never felt so rusty. "…Hello."

The answering roar from the reporters was deafening. A hundred questions flew at her from a hundred mouths, and she couldn't prevent her instinctual step back. Tony's arm came around behind her, cutting off her retreat and giving her the resolve she didn't have. "We'll take questions one at a time," Tony shouted. He scanned the crowd, making a show of ogling the oglers, and pointed at a middle aged woman in a lavender dress suit. "You. Whatcha got?"

"All of the Avengers that the public is aware of have special abilities or skills of some kind that makes them capable of doing more in defense of the public safety than average soldiers," she said. "What qualifies you to join them?"

The pressure of Tony's hand on her back increased. It was her turn to talk. She swallowed. Took a breath. She had no reason to be nervous. She was even wearing her favorite shoes – the knee-high Converse she wore when she first met Tony.

"First off," she said, her weak voice wavering, "I'm not an official Avenger." The tempest began to pick up again, and she hurried to continue. "I'm a probationary member. They could use me right now, and I could use their support. We're helping each other. For now. After that," she shrugged, "we'll see. As for what makes me qualified – I've worked with Tony Stark for about half a decade now. Someone needed to control him when he was in the field. It was really just a choice between me and Pepper." She got a few chuckles out of the crowd. These folks were more than familiar with Tony at his worst. More shutters clicked, and a few more flashes illuminated the room. "Next question?"

A forest of waving arms sprang up, and Bea hunted through the crowd, settling on a young man with a buzz cut. He didn't have the polished reporter look. Maybe he was from a small blog or something. "You."

"So, Thor has his hammer, Hawkeye has his arrows, the Black Widow has … everything," the guy said in a teasing voice. "What do you have? Brains or brawn? What's your specialty?"

Tony leaned in, cutting her off. "She's pretty brainy, but we'd rather keep her specialty under wraps for now. She's our ace up the sleeve, and we'd like to keep it that way. Next question?"

The questions kept coming for the next thirty minutes. Good questions, bad questions, dumb questions, questions Tony deflected or rejected. Thirty. Long. Minutes. Bea's heart wouldn't stop fluttering. She kept wondering what would happen if she let the wrong thing slip, if all those eager tongues got hold of her secret, knew that she could bend time. Would they be as civilized as they believed themselves to be, or would they be like the people of Asgard – terrified of a power beyond their own. How many knew Thor was an alien? She was one, too, after all.

Finally, Tony declared an end to the press conference, and then he turned, Bea held to his side, and strolled out casually as the sharks behind them clamored for more.

Once they were safely in the elevator, he looked at her and said, "I think you need a drink, Ducky."

**A/N: Shame, shame, shame. Sorry. It was life. It happens sometimes. I'm back now, and updates should be more regular. I'm expecting to wrap up the fic in the next five or so chapters, actually, and I'm still not 100% sure how it will end, so REVIEWS MATTER. Just sayin'. ;P**

**WE'VE BROKEN THE 200 REVIEW MARK! Thanks to all my loverly reviewers! You all rock my socks and give me lots of great ideas!**


	27. In Which Bea Learns

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Chapter 27: In Which Bea Learns

By the time Bea reached the top of the tower, elevator or no, she felt like she'd just run a marathon. Her muscles were soupy and only offered occasional bits of support as she all but slithered into the room. She didn't know if anyone was in the common area; she didn't stop to look. She just oozed on down the hall, intent on privacy and fluffy pillows and really good blackout shades. The world would, she assumed, still be there when she scraped her spine back together and felt fit enough to speak coherent sentences. But these days, that might be too much to hope for.

She passed out for three hours.

When she surfaced to reality, she was pleased by two things. First, that Loki had kept his nose out of her cranial cavity; second, that the sun was still up, which meant she could go back to bed once it got dark in a few hours. She strolled leisurely back out to the common room, not really surprised to find the entire gang gathered on Tony's plush couches. Even Loki was there. Usually this many Avengers in one room was enough to scare him off. They were all fixed on the television, and when Bea strolled in, Dr. Banner looked up with a soft smirk.

"Your ugly butt's all over CNN."

Unperturbed, Bea continued into the room, blasé as Tony in a mob of reporters. "What are you talking about? I have a beautiful bu… holy crap, my butt's all over CNN!" And it was. Somehow, they'd wrangled footage from one of the dopes on the street below her apartment who'd been wielding a camera phone as she flailed and flickered. So this was what Fury had been so flustered over… The reporter on screen was blathering on about the identity of the mystery mutant, and how said freak of nature was now a fledgling Avenger. A fledgling Avenger named Doe. Bea wondered how long it would take the talk shows to break out the deer jokes. And that phone footage… "Natasha, we need to spend more time in the gym."

Tony laughed. "Aw, I always thought you had a cute butt."

"I'm telling Pepper on you."

Steve cleared his throat, uncomfortable as always with even a muted level of innuendo. "I suppose this will be enough to satisfy Fury?"

"It better be," Bea said. "I'm not putting my butt in front of any more cameras. Not until I've spent some quality time with an elliptical."

"Don't be vain," Tony said, wagging a finger at her.

On screen, the reporter continued while images from the morning's press conference cycled by in the corner. The teleporter, he said, had come forward.

"Hey, Tony," Bea said, "did you know I could teleport?"

"I didn't know you could teleport."

"Huh. Neither did I. Think we should tell Fury?"

"I think he'd be Fury-ous."

"Oh, now there's a rotten pun…"

Tony grinned and reached for the mojito at his side. After he swallowed half his drink, he smacked his lips and declared, "You're ungrounded, by the way."

Bea froze. "You're joking."

"Nope."

"Has something happened that I am unaware of?"

He considered. "Other than the slobbering horde of reporters outside?"

"You are such a jerk."

"I'm a pragmatist."

"And a jerk."

"Possibly."

"Definitely."

Tossing a shrug, he swirled his drink. "Not my fault you're camera shy."

"I am not camera shy."

"Really? Then go down and strut your stuff. Go to Starbucks or something." He raised his eyebrows. "What? I'll give you fifty bucks."

"No."

He raised his glass in a mock toast. "I win."

"She can't go out anyway," Clint said from his perch on the back of the couch. "Training."

Bea sent Natasha a pleading look. "When I said I wanted to work out more, I didn't mean right now."

Clint rose. "Not with her. With me. I've got some things I want to show you."

Experience had taught Bea many things, among them to be careful when Hawkeye offered to show her something. Heights were always involved, and her track record with high altitudes wasn't the best. "Umm…"

"We're going to the training room," he said, ending the desperate spiral of delusional horrors spinning through her mind.

"Training room. Right. Yes. Good. I'll grab my gear."

It didn't take more than a minute to swap out her press ensemble for her drill clothes. She walked back into the room just in time to hear Thor ask, "What do you wish to demonstrate in the training room? I am not certain Bea can learn your mastery of the bow."

"I'm not demonstrating anything," Clint said. "I'm teaching."

"Teaching what, exactly?" Bruce asked.

"What to do when she falls."

Thor hummed his approval. "A wise choice in lessons."

Glowering as she stepped into the Asgardian's line of sight, she stabbed a finger at him and said, "I stop time, and I know where you sleep. You really wanna go there?"

He didn't even have the good grace to blanch. Instead, he greeted her direct threat with a sunny smile. "I shall give my words all due consideration, my lady."

Oh, it was on. It was on like Donkey Kong. Even as Clint led her down to the training arena, her mind rushed with plans of evil and prankish-ness. The prince of Asgard was going to burn.

Then they arrived, and Clint cut straight to the chase, banishing her plots of mayhem to the back of her brain. "You've already proven that you can't be trusted in high places," he said. From Tony, that would have been an insult, but the demure dryness of Clint's voice sapped the sting and let the humor seep through. "Someday you're going to fall again. I don't know when or where, but you will. This time, you'll be ready." He pointed to the center of the mat. "Lie down on your belly."

It felt weird, but she obeyed. She felt vulnerable on the floor, especially with her face to the mat. This was usually how she ended training sessions, not how she started them. Hawkeye walked a short circle around her, nudging her limbs into better positions – for falling? – and then crouched down by her head.

"Don't panic," he said. "That's the most important thing. Don't worry about anything else until you have that under control. Panic won't save you, but if you keep calm, you can slow your descent. Once you're clear of any obstacles, go into this position: back straight, legs out, arms spread." He let her rest there, just getting used to the feel of it, letting it slowly become natural and comfortable. "Good. Now let's try this from a little higher."

For the next three hours, Bea threw herself from the rafters into piles of mats and cushions, trying to kill her panic and switch into spread eagle position on command. Even though it looked like a long drop (especially when she was ready to jump), it wasn't that far, and it was incredibly difficult to even quash the panic before she hit the floor, let alone satisfy Hawkeye's demands to change her form. Some people were just bad at falling, or falling safely anyway. But by the end of the third hour, she was doing a reasonably good job. Her head was getting used to the idea of taking a swan dive from the ceiling, and even though she didn't quite achieve a full spread eagle, she got her arms out and her back straight several times in a row – often enough to call the results consistent.

It was good enough for the time being, and Clint finally released her so she could go hunt down some dinner.

So long as no one tossed her off the roof in the next twenty four hours, she'd be fine.

.O.O.O.

Along with abandoning the whole grounding thing, Tony called off the round the clock babysitting squad. Strangely, Bea didn't feel nervous about that. Yeah, she was still living on the same floor as Loki, her arch nemesis and creepy bedazzler, but he'd been weird lately, and not necessarily in a bad way. He just wanted to just be around a lot, and he tended to linger in the common room when she did. The other day he'd followed her outside when she drew. Nothing bad had happened. Even when she was asleep, he was behaving like a gentleman – if a dream-stalker could be gentlemanly…

But she didn't share her thoughts. The wounds she'd opened with her New Year's indiscretion were finally starting to close, and she wasn't interested in reopening them with any hints that she may be warming to the evil genius again. Thor would be chuffed. Everyone else – not so much. Maybe not even Thor. Hadn't he been the first to warn her that Loki might be playing a game with her?

If he was playing, was she falling for it? But he hadn't asked anything of her, and he was giving her the space she needed to stitch herself back together. Regardless of how unpleasant their past was, she couldn't help being grateful for that. If she had to deal with the old Loki – the nightmare king – along with her recent rise to fame, she might have cracked under the pressure.

Trapped in her thoughts, she gave up trying to sleep and wandered out to the common room. Who should be there but the subject of her frustration. He was stretched out on the couch, more relaxed than she'd ever seen him, an old leather-bound book in his hands. He barely even glanced at her as she came into the room, returning quickly to the contents of his book. The script on the cover didn't look familiar, and Bea assumed it was Asgardian. Bea was willing to bet it was about magic. Freshly assured of his distance, Bea strolled over to the window, taking in the panorama of sparkling lights and glowing streets. New York at night was beautiful. There was enough light to be enchanting, but not enough to reveal the rat-chewed hot dog lying discarded beside the dirty sewer. Graffiti vanished into the foggy grey beyond the electric luminescence, and for a few hours, the city was clean.

She was never sure afterwards what prompted her to speak, but all of a sudden the words were forming on her tongue, and with a breath they were out. "This is all so bizarre," she said, eyes fixed on the Chrysler building. "It's like a fairytale. A topsy-turvy one, but, yeah, still a fairytale."

Loki looked up from his book, and Bea almost dared to meet the inquisitive eyes of his reflection. There was a smile there, mocking, a little ironic, more than a little smug.

"How so?"

Now that she'd started a conversation, Bea realized she would have to continue. But the words that had coalesced to easily at first were sitting in sticky lumps of thought that resisted orderly presentation. It took her a minute to interpret them. "Well, this is Stark's tower, so that makes Tony the king. We all live like royalty here," – Loki snorted, but Bea chose to ignore him – "and some of you actually a_re_ royalty. Then Tony had me locked up here for my own protection… it's just too weird."

"If we are to follow your metaphor," Loki said, "then I suppose I must be your knight in shining armor."

It was Bea's turn to snort. "No way. You're the dragon – a creepy dragon with anger management issues and a perverted sense of humor. No offense or anything – your armor is plenty shiny."

"My thanks for your heartfelt compliment," he drawled.

"My most insincere thanks for your sarcasm."

They let the conversation drift away on a tide of errant thoughts, he returning to his book, she eventually winding her way back to bed.

It should've alarmed her how comfortable she was with him. It really should have, but the fact of the matter was that she wasn't scared at all. The princess and the dragon were getting chummy. Who'da thunk it?

.O.O.O.

Time became very strange after that. Bea made herself available whenever her tutors were free, and she slept when she could. Some days she followed a nine to five schedule. Others, she was practically nocturnal. With all the restrictions removed, she returned to work – after a fashion. For a few days she tried to pretend nothing had happened, but even the handful of people in her department saw her in a different light since the press conference, and she soon found she couldn't take the pressure of so many watchful eyes pinned to her back. So she started working when no one else was around – early in the morning or late at night, sometimes both. She orchestrated the organized chaos that was her little branch of Stark Industries, making sure everyone had what they needed and were given the permissions they required. But she avoided actual personal contact. Eventually they must have caught on that they'd made her uncomfortable, because her old office buddies became surprisingly cooperative with their boss's odd hours. Requests and invoices were left in tidy piles on her desk, and urgent matters were sent to her email, which she could use at any time from the safety of the upper lounge – or even her room. It was only a few floors away, but it made all the difference in the world.

She was coming to accept the divide.

And through that haze of normalcy complicated with training, there was the ever present threat of Thanos and his approaching army. No one could tell when they would arrive. Some days they seemed to cover impossible distances, others they barely moved at all. Steve and Thor agreed that this was intentional – a tactic to keep them off balance and unprepared, to allow them to grow too comfortable with the threat while Thanos and his minions took all the rests they may or may not need to stay fresh and battle ready.

Change was becoming all too standard, and Bea found herself growing uncomfortably at ease with it. Her ties to the outside world were withering away, the end of the world was coming (again), and her landlord had revoked her lease due to the damage done to her apartment during the whole kiss fallout. Walls were springing up around her, paths disappearing, and she realized that she was being driven on to the supposedly inevitable destiny Loki had predicted. She had to fight. She had to embrace the truth behind her party tricks. She would never pass as the girl next door ever again.

Bea was surprised by her body. She always thought of flesh as soft, but when she touched her arms or braced a hand against her thigh, she found hard strength there bound in muscles. She was no Hulk, to be sure, and the alterations were hardly drastic, but the slight changes are unnerving, made all the more so because they were inside, unnoticed by the outside world. It was just another sign that Bea the Head of Design was dying, that she was being swiftly replaced by Bea the Superhero. She didn't know Bea the Superhero, and their first introductions hadn't been pleasant. Superhero Bea was born on sweaty practice mats and precarious encounters with the Prince of Mischief. The Superhero made room for the Artist, a side Bea had known since infancy when she began making masterpieces with her mashed potatoes, but the Head of Design was fading. There wasn't much room for order and deadlines in the Superhero's world. Projects came due at the end of the world. Be there or be square.

The sensible thing would be to replace her. Goodness knew she hadn't been holding up to all her responsibilities at work, and Pepper should've fired her months back when she first sent in her resignation. Even if her decline into hermitage could be excused as a brief lapse in judgment, her continued reluctance to return to her office was far from mature, and Bea could tell her underlings were taking on more and more of the roles she usually played in day to day management. If things stayed the way they were, she would fire herself.

A weird courage was growing in her. Decisions came easier and losses seemed … less important. It was a fey sort of self reliance, born from desperation, strengthened by isolation and tempered by the weight of her new responsibilities. She wasn't sure what it meant, but it burned cold at the bottom of her chest, waiting until it was needed. It made jumping from the ceiling with Clint a lot easier; it quashed her fear. But she was starting to notice things she should miss (privacy, fresh air, city walks, her own place), and the realization was dawning on her that she didn't miss them half as much as she should. Somewhere along the line, unhappy endings had become routine. Everything rusted, shriveled and died. And she wasn't even old in human terms yet. What would happen when she was seventy? One hundred? A thousand?

Sick of her thoughts, she left her room in search of better company. Once again, it was night, which meant the Science Bros were doing what they did best in their labs, Clint was sleeping or 'hawking' on the roof, Natasha was off on S.H.I.E.L.D. business, Thor was looking out the window thinking deep thoughts about nothing in particular, and Captain America was entering the REM stage. That left her. And the Prince of Mischief, of course. Finding him in the lounge on nights like these when her mind wouldn't leave well enough alone was becoming a ritual, one that Bea was too tired to worry over. Maybe he was a friend, maybe not. At the very least, his snide expressions gave her something else to direct her loathing towards.

True to form, he was draped over the couch in the closest thing to casual clothing he ever deigned to wear (Asgardian tunics sans shiny bits). He didn't bother to acknowledge her presence for the first few moments, and Bea wandered over to the over-stuffed chair opposite, prepared to wait out the paragraph. As she passed, she noted the title of the book: _War and Peace_. It was so funny it wasn't. She wondered if he'd chosen the book on purpose, just to get a reaction out of her.

After a while he looked over at her, eyes twinkling as he smirked. "Good evening."

"Good evening yourself," she said. "Must be a freakishly good book."

Rather than answering (which probably meant he liked it), Loki asked, "Have you read it?"

Bea grinned. "Big fat book like that? Naw. I'm an artist. I prefer works with lots of pretty pictures."

"I do not understand why you insist on likening yourself to a child," Loki said. He paused. "Well, I understand the defensive mechanism that would drive such efforts to lower your perceived value and potential in the eyes of others, but you enjoy it too much for that to be the only explanation."

"Of course." Bea drew her feet under herself. "Nothing worthwhile has just one explanation."

"An interesting theory, if not entirely accurate."

"Who needs accuracy?"

Loki quirked a grin. "Agent Barton."

Bea raised a mock toast in salute. "Point."

They both settled back in their places, and Bea let the silence steep for a while before she tried to break it. Loki's eyes returned to his book, and Bea climbed out of her chair, taking a turn around the half-lit room. Talking this way seemed natural, and she struggled to understand why. It was more than the dark. She didn't know if it was the isolation of the hour, or Loki's wily talent for wordplay, but something set her at ease. Now if it was only safe to trust the snake. Recent events were in his favor, though. He'd behaved himself ever since their first few dream scuffles after she moved into the tower. Maybe he just understood that threats made her stubborn. He was definitely closer to her now than he'd been in her nightmares. He wasn't in her head, but he had much better access to her thoughts through their conversations than he ever did in her dreams.

The time came to break the silence.

"You've been very nice lately," she said. "It makes me kinda nervous."

Russian literature abandoned, Loki swung his feet to the floor and pinned her with a scrutinizing stare. "Nice?"

Awkward and bumbling, Bea struggled to elaborate. "Generous? Kind? Not so creepy?" She gestured between the two of them. "We're _talking_ in _real life_ instead of the Twilight Zone like we used to. You've been staying out of my head, and it's been fantastic. You're being nice." He was still looking at her, unblinking. She shrugged helplessly, hands spread. "You know?"

Loki rose from the couch, boneless as a cat. He took slow measured paces across the room, eyes never leaving hers.

"And you believe this to be kindness?" He stopped beside her, shoulder to shoulder, ducking to whisper in her ear. "This is patience. You consider yourself a mortal, even though you know that façade for what it is. Mortality cannot stand against the test of time. One day, when the people you love are empty husks crumbling in their graves, and your own delusions of humanity have faded with them, then you will understand, and you will welcome my guidance, and my friendship, for there will be precious few who offer such mighty gifts to you."

Bea struggled with the lump of disappointment that soured her stomach, forcing herself to look Loki in the eye. He was sneering, confident in his superiority and certain of his assumptions. "For a smart guy, you sure can be dumb sometimes."

He scoffed and pulled back, a barb springing to his lips, but Bea was already moving away, suddenly weary – finally ready for sleep.

**A/N: Not sure how I feel about this chapter - necessary, but writing it was like trying to poop a live crab. Just stop and visualize that for a minute. That was why it took so long for me to update. That and I'm very busy with my new job, AND I went to my first full weekend con (which was amazing, btw). Overall, I feel like the fic is getting heavier, which makes it harder to write, but we only have about three chapters left, so I will do my best to make them the most amazing chapters I can! But bear with me! Pretty please? There might be other clawed crustaceans making a less than graceful exit.**

**THANKS TO ALL MY BEAUTIFUL REVIEWERS! **


	28. In Which the World Ends Again

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

**Chapter 28: In Which The World Ends… Again**

Three days passed before she spoke with Loki again. Thanos' fleet stopped and started in its own bizarre version of Red-Light-Green-Light, shortening the distance between planet Earth and Certain Doom by inches and leagues. Everyone was getting short with each other, exhausted by their constant vigilance. Thanos' hopscotch game showed no regular pattern, and it was impossible to predict when he might arrive. It could be in time for tea, or it could be another several months. There was simply no way to tell. Everyone had to be prepared for the worst at every minute of every day, and it was just too taxing to sustain much longer.

So she wasn't really paying attention when Loki grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. She'd been on her way from the common lounge to her room, fresh from breakfast, off to prepare for another long day of training. Then his fingers locked around her bicep like cold stone and yanked her off-kilter.

She didn't bother looking at his face; glaring at his hand was enough for her. "I'm sorry, did you want something?"

"I need to speak with you."

"Oh, how kind of you." She met his eyes, letting her stony expression and the viper hidden in her words convey her full meaning. No point wasting words. They weren't friends, after all.

Loki's nostrils flared, and for a moment he teetered between rage and conviction. At last, after his hand had cut off most of the circulation in her lower arm, he landed on the side of conviction. "I know you do not trust me, and maybe you are right to, but you don't need trust in order to listen." He relinquished his grip on her arm, and she shook herself, trying to mask her fear with defiance.

"And what do you have to say that is so imperative to our continued survival?" she asked.

"Trust yourself."

Blindsided, Bea faltered, and it took a moment before she could stammer a reply. "I-I'm sorry? What?"

"Trust yourself," he repeated. "You are our first and only alarm. When Thanos' attack is imminent, you will sense it. Don't ignore that. Listen to your instincts and trust yourself."

Bea scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Obi-wan Kenobi."

"Just think," Loki snapped. "You have a mind – use it. Someday, linear time will mean nothing to you. Your powers allow you to catch glimpses of both the past and the future. When an instance as momentous as Thanos' attack on this planet occurs, you will feel the ripples reaching back to you through time, growing deeper as that time approaches." He paused, squinting into her face. "Perhaps it has already begun."

She flinched involuntarily – blood on the sidewalk, dead men walking, the city ablaze – and Loki's expression deepened.

"Listen to those whispers," he urged. "Note the glances your power affords you. That foresight may well save us all."

"Brother?" Thor poked his head into the room, frowning. "Is all well?"

Loki straightened his tunic. "Certainly. I was merely speaking with Miss Doe." He brushed past his older brother. "That is still permitted, I assume?"

.O.O.O.

He'd told her she'd be the first to know – and he was right. All day, Bea was anxious and snippy, keeping to her room as much as possible, poking at her food, refusing to keep anyone's company. She didn't understand until three in the afternoon as she sat staring out her window at her expensive view. Then she watched as flaming chunks of the tower tumbled down, crushing civilians fleeing from a thousand other crumbling buildings. Alien chariots zipped by. They targeted the milling horde of city-dwellers below, and the body count rose to the point where nothing moved. No one breathed. There were only piles of bodies in the street, gathered where desperate businessmen and tourists had tried climbing over each other to escape. Everything was horribly still after that. The chariots left, one by one, off to find moving targets, and there was a lurid stillness where the only motion came from flames eating towers and bloody rivers draining down the gutters. Even the sky burned orange, red tongues licking up into the clouds. Smoke and ash clogged her throat, and she sat there, watching it all die.

In another moment, the ghosts faded, and she was looking at a usual Thursday afternoon, complete with puffy white clouds and Thor's raucous battle cry as he dueled Tony on the Wii.

Bea was paralyzed. Her breath stuck halfway between a sob and a scream, and for a moment she couldn't breathe at all. Everything clicked back into place in one jarring instant, and she was on her hands and knees, spitting bile.

Eventually, when her stomach had calmed and her nerves had settled, she reached for her phone. She was still trembling badly enough that selecting the right name from her contacts list was a challenge. But she did it, and then she waited on the floor by her bed, trapped with future demons and the stench of her own vomit.

"_Fury._"

"Director." She was happy her voice worked. "Time to call in the troops."

.O.O.O.

Things moved quickly after that. Fury triggered the alarm before she even left her room, and by the time Bea arrived in the common room, everyone was in motion. Cap was barking orders; everyone was grabbing their weapons. In the past few weeks, with Thanos' a constant threat, none of the Avengers had wanted to leave their favorite toys out of reach. Now that was paying off.

"Ducky," Tony said as the faceplate of his suit flipped shut. "Stay here." He tromped off to the balcony without another word and blasted off into the sky.

With a bit more decorum, Steve reinforced Iron Man's order. "Stay on the radio," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. His shield was slung over his other elbow, all shiny and fresh, ready for action. "If something happens, if we need you, be ready, alright?"

"Yeah." Smiling was physically painful. "Right. I'll be ready."

Steve nodded and walked off, ready to command from the front, wherever that was…

Irritated and useless, Bea considered just going back to her room. There was nothing she could do here. She turned to go, and came face to face with Clint, already armed and dressed in his combat suit. "We'll probably only have one shot at Thanos," he said, "and we'll need you. You're our only way to get near the guy. You're our ace. Don't forget that." He didn't give her time to respond. A clap on the arm and he was off, slipping away with Agent Romanoff. They were the last to leave. Thor and Loki cleared out at the first alarm, ready to make their stand the second something ugly turned up. Dr. Banner had stumbled hurriedly into the elevator, already a little green around the gills.

That left Nadine alone, in a strangely silent tower, listening to the distant commotion of the city and the zippy roar of fighter jets sweeping the city.

Then she really did go back to her room. Hanging in the closet was a tight blue cat-suit-like uniform, fire-proof, bullet-proof, insulated to withstand subzero temperatures, but light enough to wear in the Sahara. Tony had it made for her. It was her own 'Super' suit, and it was finally time to put it on. She climbed inside, adding a single accessory – a hands-free comm. that fit perfectly in her ear. Tony had tested it with her – nearly deafening her in one ear by blasting Iron Maiden through the open channel at full volume.

The suit was too tight, and very clingy; it was the sort of get-up that made a girl regret choosing doughnuts for breakfast. Bea couldn't bring herself to look in a mirror. It would tell her if she looked like the Black Widow's cousin or the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. If she was going to die in a few hours, she wanted to die pretending she looked awesome.

She _felt_ like she'd stolen someone else's clothes.

Dressed and pressed, Bea sat on the edge of her bed and waited for the end of the world. The nightmarish vision from before had faded, and that future was close enough that it hid behind the placid veneer of the present. All in all, the view was quite dull. It didn't take long to get bored. She thought very carefully about what Tony told her to do. When he said "Stay here," he meant stay in the tower, right? There was no room number, no floor. The roof was part of the tower. True, she would be _on_ the tower rather than _in_ it, but how important was one letter in a measly preposition, anyway?

The world was about to end. Hang the prepositions.

She climbed to the very top of the tower, where a small viewing area had been fenced in. At night, the spot was very romantic, and Bea had spied Tony and Pepper sneaking towards the stairs on more than one occasion. Nothing too romantic now. Yellow snakes of taxies curled through the city streets below, window washers dangled on the sides of skyscrapers, and helicopters began to gather. Bea spied the new Quinjet making a pass over Harlem. It was too late to evacuate the city; it would only cause a panic if they tried rushing everyone out before Bea's vision came to pass. But she knew they would try anyway. Doubtless orders had been put into motion, clearing the outskirts of the city first, making room for a speedy escape from downtown. She wondered how many wouldn't make it, how many would be buried under concrete and glass like last time, when her would-be mentor declared war on mankind.

Humanity – even now, she couldn't help classing herself with them. Yeah, every time she looked in the mirror she faced the reality of her lie, but she _felt_ human. She loved her boss, and Pepper, and the devious joy she felt crawling through the air ducts with Clint couldn't be matched. She felt human. Most people assumed she was one. Couldn't that be good enough?

She wandered to the concrete wall ringing the roof and pressed her hands flat against the wide lip. She shouldn't complain. The fact that she was freaky alien from Planet X might just save them all. It was a terrifying thought, and it didn't bring her the reassurance she'd hoped it would. The world was resting on her shoulders. She was not Atlas. This could not end well.

A clap of thunder rattled the tower, and Bea peered up, wondering if she was doomed to be struck by lightning before the battle even began. And then she saw the ships dropping from the clouds, sealing off the sky over New York. It wasn't thunder, it was the noise of the sound barrier breaking as Thanos' fleet stomped on their airbrakes several thousand feet over Manhattan.

The boom had inspired a sudden hush over the city, as traumatized citizens turned their eyes to the sky. But at the sight of what awaited them, well, that silence didn't last very long. Screaming, honking – all the typical noises associated with mass panic floated up to Bea's ears, and she took a step back from the edge.

A hollow crack trembled in the air, different from the sonic boom, and Bea turned around to examine the ships descending behind her. Instead of ships, she saw a ball of roiling green energy flying towards the tower. She launched herself backwards, barely registering the fact that there was a wall and then _air_ that direction. Her trajectory brought her lower back in contact with the concrete, but there was no time for pain to register, because as she hit the wall, the blast hit the building. The additional force sent her flipping over the barrier as the building groaned. She hadn't even begun her downward arch when the former Stark Tower shuddered and began to come apart. Like a child's block tower, it disintegrated in great chunks that broke away and sailed toward the earth.

And then Bea began to fall in earnest.

Despite all her experience with heights and toppling from them, the experience never got better.

The wind screamed in her ears, ripping through her hair and burning her eyes. As she tumbled, the world degraded into a frenzied kaleidoscope. Tower. Skyline. Sunlight. Ground. Rubble. Ground again. Each flash of New York's sidewalks brought them a little closer, and fine detail began manifesting.

_Don't panic._

The scream in her ears became a song – an angry loud death metal song, but there was still a traceable shape of order in it. She gained control over her tailspin.

Back straight. Legs out. Arms spread.

She was now in x-wing attack position. The world stopped tumbling, but it was still shooting by at an alarming rate, and she was lined up for the kiss of death with the pavement.

Gasping a breath, she tapped her comm.. The gesture cost her a little more altitude, and she stabbed her arm back out before her brain could even process the order.

"Tony?" She was amazed how calm she sounded. The benefits of good training right there. No answer came. The only voice in her ears was the wind's.

"Steve?" Nothing.

"Clint?" Silence.

"Bruce?" Definitely panicking now.

"Natasha-Pepper-Thor-Fury-_anyone?_"

Full blown terror. The ground was rushing up, and it was going to high five her right in the face.

Well, Loki wouldn't get his wish. She wouldn't outlive the puny mortals. She should've tallied her life in dog years – it would've given her a more accurate estimate of time remaining. She hoped Tony wouldn't blame himself for this. Although, his Ducky being the first fatality when she was left in his tower for safety would rankle, she was sure. But he'd have Pepper, and she always made him better.

Assuming, of course, any of them lived through this.

The ground was incredibly close now. Bea could see gum on the pavement.

The Avengers were about to lose the ace up their sleeve. She was going to die. And she felt like she needed to apologize for that.

Something slammed into her when she was mere yards from the ground, and Bea saw green. Then she didn't see anything at all.

**A/N: So, let me begin by apologizing for this scandalously short chapter. I was considering combining this chapter and the next, but I figured you all had waited long enough, so I thought short might be better than nothing. I had work, and I planted my garden, and I went on vacation. And Doctor Who season 7 ended. Just life, and stuff - you know. But this is about 1000 words short of my usual length, which is shameful. However, the next chapter will be EPIC! And probably quite large.**

**Only a chapter and an epilogue (of sorts) left! Please help me finish this puppy running! Please review! Your thoughts fuel my muse and encourage me to stay up way past responsible bedtimes to work on this story.**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers from last chapter! You're fantastic, absolutely fantastic!**


	29. In Which She is Become Death

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

**Chapter 29: In Which She is Become Death**

Garden parties sucked, which didn't make sense. They were parties, which were awesome, in gardens, which could be awesome, even if they suffered from an extreme overpopulation of flamingoes. Maybe a party _in_ a garden would be cool (or a garden in a party?), but the garden variety garden party was usually about as stimulating as watching ice cubes melt in a glass of lemonade… which was what Bea was actually doing.

The Cicada Symphony was in full swing, and the heat bore down on the soiree with malicious intent. But the sun was out, and the temperature gave the women a marvelous excuse to break out the skimpy sundresses. Speaking of… Bea glanced down at herself, pleased with her blue daisy-print attire. Not her usual fair, but it was kinda retro, very vintage, actually, and her sunhat was awesome. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was. It had better be awesome if it was on her head.

Tony and Steve came over, very serious, clearly not enjoying the Long Island iced teas in their hands. Surprising. Usually Tony considered an illicit affair with anything even remotely alcoholic. She climbed up from her lawn chair to greet them, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, Tony said, "Hang in there, Bea."

She blinked, stumped. Then smiled. "It's a crappy party, I know. But we'll get out of here soon enough, right? Party at your place, later?"

Completely ignoring her, Steve turned to Tony and asked, "Are you alright, Stark?"

"It's my fault she's here," Tony said, turning to meet Steve's eyes. "I shouldn't have pressured her. She was right. She's not cut out for this kind of crap."

"Hey." Bea snapped her fingers under Tony's nose, getting frustrated, getting scared. "I'm right here. Stop being a jerk, you jerk."

"She would've wound up here regardless," Steve said. "It's not your fault. And, remember, it's not over yet."

Tony sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the woods that bordered the lawn. "Yeah. I guess not."

Steve followed his gaze. "Time to get back to it, right?"

"Right."

Side by side, they wandered off to the edge of the grass. Then they lied down, straight and still like bodies in a morgue. As Bea stared, Clint wandered over and stretched out beside them. Natasha followed, dragging table clothes over their frozen faces before she curled up against Hawkeye.

The Hulk was roaring in the woods somewhere. Thor was nowhere to be seen.

A hand settled on her shoulder. "Bea." She tried to ignore the voice, fixated on the fluttering white tablecloths that covered her friends. Her boss. "Bea, I am sorry, but there is no time." A murder of crows sprang from the trees, a tremendous black cloud, but they were silent apart from the beating of wings, their caws drowned out by the never ending buzz of the cicadas. For a moment, Bea understood eternity.

"There is no time."

She blinked as consciousness dawned on her, trying to escape the crumbled grit and dust coating her lashes. A red world greeted her, lit by Thanos' fires and the lifeblood of a planet. Loki was bent over her, washed out and pale against the lurid backdrop, haggard, dirty – but determined. He was dressed in his ceremonial armor, all shine and splendor, the great horns arching up from his helm giving him additional height he really didn't need. But for all that, he looked almost broken. His physical stamina was being tested. It was his will that animated him now, not divine strength.

That was probably bad news for the mortal world.

Bea sat up and looked around. They were in a parking garage, several floors up. The wind rushed through the open sides of the building, fluttering a blue tarp, under which Bea caught glimpses of a bow and red curls.

"I haven't…" When had this happened? She fell. She was the dead one. Hawkeye and Agent Romanoff weren't supposed to be dead. They were too sneaky to die. She choked, and a mewling whimper squeaked past her lips. Gulping a breath, ignoring the way her vision was blurring, she tried again. "I didn't…" Fat tears rolled through her lower lashes and down her face, trailing along her jaw, wetting her neck. She looked up at Loki. "How are we here? How are they…" She couldn't look back at the tarp, but Loki understood.

"They were forced to abandon the Quinjet," he said. "The Chitauri cornered them. It happened very quickly."

"Tony? Steve?"

Loki's face clouded. "Gone to face Thanos. I do not believe they could survive the encounter alone."

"Thor?"

Loki shook his head. "I do not know. I have not seen him since the attack commenced. It is possible the Allfather forcibly recalled him to Asgard in the face of insurmountable odds. The throne," he sneered, "must have an heir."

Lastly, remembering the green, she asked, "Doctor Banner?"

"The Hulk caught you," he confirmed. "The monster is in a rage. It is perhaps best for us all that he is not nearby." He shrugged. "As far as I know, he yet lives."

Bea drew up her knees and rested her face in her hands. There were ashes in her mouth, and a series of sharp pains down her right side let her know the Hulk had damaged her as he saved her life. Her back was on fire where she'd struck the wall, and she wondered if she was bleeding. There were too many different kinds of pain to know. Something was wrong with her knee, it was possible her ribs were cracked, and she knew that if she lived to see the morning, she would blossom into one solid bruise.

But compared to the rest of New York, she felt pretty good.

Forcing herself to acknowledge that life would be just as ugly when she looked up again, she pulled her face from her hands and peered, dazed at Loki, the god of mischief, her only remaining ally.

So this was it. This was how Earth died. With a would-be superhero and a has-been villain.

She was meant to save it, but she fell, and she wasn't entirely sure she could get up again. The parking garage shuddered, sending fresh dirt and rubble showering down. Glancing over his shoulder, Loki said, "We must move quickly. Thanos will find us sooner or later, but personally, I'd rather delay that introduction as long as possible."

"Hear, hear." She pressed her palms flat on the ground and struggled to her knees, but the moment she put weight on them, her right side flared in pain, and she slipped to the side. Loki's arm snaked around her, and he pulled her to her feet effortlessly.

As if expecting a rebuttal, he said, "We must hurry."

Then they were moving, and it was difficult for Bea to even keep her feet, let alone muster the necessary sarcasm to reply.

Before they made it to the stairs, a blast shattered the side of the building they'd just vacated. Bea turned – mostly because Loki did – to watch half the building glide away in a graceful crumble. And Thanos was standing there, purple and enormous, and he was approaching them. Loki all but threw Bea to the side and lifted hands crackling with magic. But one flick of Thanos' wrist sent the demigod hurtling across the floor only to smack into a column. While Loki lied there, stunned, Thanos continued his approach. It dawned on Bea that he was coming for her, and she began a rapid retreat – taking small steps backwards, afraid to look away. Never look away from the monster. Even little children knew that. Look away and he'll eat you whole.

The fact of the matter was that Thanos was bigger than Bea. And faster, too. Her retreat only served to back her into a corner. She looked away when her back bumped a wall, and when she looked back, Thanos was only inches away. He seized her by the throat, and she didn't even think about using her powers – she just did. The first time, Thanos came with her, and he looked around in the sudden silence without releasing his grip. When Bea dragged them back into the regular flow of time, and he laughed.

The Mad Titan held her aloft, choking her, and Bea stared down the endlessly long arm into the monster's face. Blunt white teeth grinned at her, and electric blue eyes twinkled. His face was a mask of joy – pure, unadulterated admiration for the chaos and destruction surrounding him.

"Chronos."

She froze time again – once, twice – and tried prying the fingers from around her neck. But Thanos was like stone, his grip unbreakable, and in the end she only rushed the advance of the black bars creeping into her vision.

"A fitting sacrifice to my lady Death," Thanos said. "And through you, all worlds shall burn. There could be no better offering."

She didn't understand what he was doing, but she did know the moment he got inside her head. A headache unlike anything she'd ever experienced sizzled like lightning through her brain, burning and shocking with electric pain. Loki, having regained his senses, shouted from across the level, but Bea couldn't make out the words. She closed her eyes.

Something popped, and abruptly, the pain stopped. Thanos dropped her, and several ages later she hit the floor, cough and wheezing as a keening whine built in the back of her head. At first she thought it was a small incoming missile, but the noise didn't stop, didn't climax in an explosion. It just kept building, like a Jack-in the box from the pit that only played one note and never sprang through the lid.

She needed it to stop. Preferably yesterday.

Clapping her hands over her ears, she opened her eyes. Thanos was strolling away, Loki was sliding toward her on his knees, and she could see time.

Loki was practically screaming at her, but she was fixated on Thanos. Every moment of his life was laid bare before her – all of his past, all of his future. The present was a little hinge, always in motion, joining the two halves of Thanos' existence. Bea wondered what would happen if she broke it. Or if she pulled on one of the long threads of events winding through a thousand experiences to make him what he _was_.

Shrugging off Loki, she rose unsteadily to her feet and tottered after Thanos, reaching out for long wings of time and being that only she could see. She seized him, at the moment his ship reached Earth, and she ripped a hole through his existence.

"You're dead," she said, panting. Her injury had done its work. He was falling apart, even if only she could see it.

He turned to her, that terrible smile on his face. "All is dead. The ultimate gift to my lady Death."

Soon, he was physically effected by the loss of his history, and he began to disintegrate.

Time was dusty. When moments dissolved into scattered instants, they followed the breeze like fine sand, wrecking the foundation of reality with a whisper. Bea took the dusty remains of the villain who never was and pushed them out of time. Even his nonexistent remains had never existed.

Lightning sparked in her head again, and she stumbled back, confused by the damp heat spreading down her face. Was she crying? No. Her eyes didn't feel wet. She touched a hand to her nose, and the fingers came away bloody. For a moment she could only stare at them. "Well."

"Bea." Loki latched onto her shoulders, fighting to reclaim her attention. Bea looked into his eyes, and wondered if she'd break him if she tried to fix the tangled mess he'd made of his history. "Bea!" He shook her. "Look at me. Focus, Bea!"

"Thanos is gone," she said blankly. It felt so simple. Why had they all been so concerned? Super villain? As if. "But." Her eyes turned skywards, where the occasional alien chariot still zipped past. "I'm not finished yet." This time it was easier. The hole she'd made in Thanos' weave had already spread, slowly unspooling the universe, and she had very little to do to get rid of the invaders entirely.

She had only just finished when a cough bubbled up inside her, bringing with it a mouthful of blood. She wiped the strings of it from her lips with her other hand, and again found herself staring at her fingers. "Oh." Her newfound strength deserted her, leaving her with crippling agony.

Loki was there to catch her. "Bea. Listen carefully. Thanos was in your mind. There are things there you are not meant to have yet, powers you can't control. You have to stop. Time is falling apart. You'll make it so the cosmos never was if you don't stop." He'd touched her a number of times in the past, such as the time he embedded a moodstone in her chest, but he'd never been so gentle. It made Bea wonder if she was falling apart as well. Maybe he was so gentle because his past was blowing away like Thanos'.

"Bea." He tried again. "We must go back. We can cauterize the wound in time, but we must go back to a point you haven't touched yet. Bea – this is important – where did you change history?"

"Thanos," she said, flinching. "When Thanos arrived on Earth."

He settled his hand on the top of her head and began smoothing her hair in long strokes. "That's very good. Now. Take us back to an hour before any of that happened."

She risked a peek at the world around them. Everywhere, things were drifting apart. Buildings fluttering away, grain by grain. Corpses fading as their deaths became paradoxes.

"I can't…" she bit her words off mid-sentence, her focus shredded by the hurricane building at the back of her mind. "I can't do… what you think I can. I'm not… I'm not that. I don't know how. I'm not that strong."

"You are and you will, because you must," Loki insisted. His grip was becoming uncomfortably tight. "Listen!" He shook her, and jogged her back to attention. "The world is burning, Bea. And everything will fall apart if you don't master yourself _now_. Midgard, Asgard. All will fall. They will never be if you allow yourself to be broken."

She took a deep breath and looked inside for the abilities he claimed she had. She could pick apart time. She could freeze it. Could she travel through it? No – she simply wasn't ready. There were skills she hadn't… there. She could see where they needed to go. It was down a long thread, wound tight like a zip line. She giggled, and her mirth brought up more blood. Soon she was coughing again.

"Have you found the way?" Loki asked.

"Yeah." She could barely keep her eyes open, but manipulating time felt easier than blinking.

She took his hand just as the floor below her drifted into oblivion.

She fell. For the first time. For the last time. For every time in between. And he held on. He didn't let go.

They crashed onto a hard cement floor, one level down, several hours in the past, just as a white SUV came barreling around the corner. The driver pounded his horn, and Loki rolled to the side with Bea locked tight to his chest. Once the vehicle was gone, Loki gingerly lifted the comm. out of Bea's ear and slipped it into his own.

"This is Loki," he said breathlessly. "If _anyone_ is listening to this, then please send immediate aid to fifty four Central. I am with Bea Doe. We require assistance. Oh," he smiled. "And we just saved the world - in case you were wondering."

Bea couldn't share in his glee. She was staring at the ceiling, trying not to choke on her own blood. The headache had not improved, and she was still covered in her own blood. Rolling onto her side, she gagged and coughed up enough blood to be very alarming in any circumstances. She whimpered as Loki patted her on the back.

"We are nearly finished," he said. "Hang on just a little longer. I cannot explain this on my own."

It took all of one minute and twelve seconds for the Avengers to arrive en mass. Tony was the first to arrive, with Thor just a step behind. Thor immediately went to his brother, taking him by the arms and exclaiming, "Are you injured, brother? Where is the battle?"

And Tony fell to his knees beside Bea with an indignant squawk to hide his alarm. "Bea? This is your fault." He pointed at Thor. "Your baby brother broke my ducky." The thought sent him to a whole new level of concerned. He turned back to Ducky. "Are you broken?"

"Sort of." She struggled to lift herself, and Tony rushed to support her as she sat up. "But we have bigger problems."

The rest of the team arrived, flushed but far from breathless, all ready for a fight, and somewhat disappointed to find none. Doctor Banner shuffled off to a safe distance, observing the scene beneath furrowed brows and above fold arms. Steve chose a medium distance, but adopted a similar stance – only with more authority. The Black Widow came to stand beside Thor, and Clint crouched down on Bea's free side.

Well, now that everyone was assembled… "I think I broke time."

Amid the expected squawks and protests that followed, Loki calmly said, "You did."

"Ducky." Tony was giving her his best mother duck look. He would make a horrible mother. "Explain. Now. And use small words."

What else was she going to do? Though she was tempted to sneak supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in there somehow… Her stomach seized, and she had to shove Clint aside as she vomited blood.

"Yup. I knew it. You're broken." Tony glowered at Loki. "You broke my Ducky. You don't get forgiven for this kind of thing. Like – ever."

"If we could stay on topic, Mr. Stark?" the Captain was so darling – he thought he was in charge. "The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can fix… your Ducky."

Every passing second added extra weights to Bea's eyelids, and the hum of pain at the back of her mind was rather like a chainsaw. It served a similar function, at any rate. The tear she'd plucked in time was getting closer. She could feel it trembling down the slackened links to the future, and she knew she had few minutes remaining before this time blew away with the destiny it led to. It was time to sum up. "Everyone died. Or almost. I think the Hulk was still around – somewhere – saved my life, in fact. But then it was down to me and Loki, and Thanos came, and he did something nasty to my head, and I think I can literally taste the rainbow now, which is apparently not so good." She spat a mouthful of red foam. "Mm, tastes like iron."

"So time is broken because you are?" Agent Romanoff asked.

"In a manner." Loki slipped into the conversation seamlessly, letting his silver tongue lead the way. Considering the present circumstances, no one was willing to stop him. "Miss Doe destroyed Thanos by ripping apart his timeline – shredding the reality that formed him. However, because all points it time meet…"

"She started a ripple effect," Tony surmised. He looked dispassionately down at his wounded Duck. "Good Ducky. But… bad Ducky."

She ignored him. "You said we could cauterize it," she said, addressing Loki. "We're running out of time. How…" She grit her teeth as a wave of pain rolled down her spine. "How do we stop it?"

"Well, I'm afraid we must stop you, my dear."

"I don't…" Bea sputtered, dribbling blood. "I don't understand."

But Agent Romanoff, the assassin, did. "Thanos isn't the break's point of origin. You are."

"Because I was the one who ripped time?"

"Because right now you, in fact, in every time." Loki crouched down in front of her, oblivious to the way Tony crushed her closer to his chest. "Thanos didn't exactly break you. He merely unlocked abilities you will not have the capacity to manage until you are several centuries old. As you are, you cannot control them, so they control you. Because of that, you and your actions are everywhere. They touch everything. It we dispose of you, we will sever the link. The future we experienced will never be. It _cannot_ be. But this time will still advance, and eventually, day by day, a new future will be made."

Bea finally surrendered to Tony's domineering enthusiasm and sagged against him. "So time will heal itself and grow over the hole. It'll grow a new arm. Like an octopus."

"Yes."

"But only if I'm gone."

"Yes."

"And by that, you mean…?"

"We could kill you. That would be easiest."

"Oh." Bea sat very still, wrapped up in her pain and the overwhelming idea that this was not at all fair. There she was, surrounded by real superheroes who'd gone into dozens of conflicts and always escaped ready to fight another day. Superheroes always fought more than one war. A soldier who died on their first day of action was either a pitiable casualty or a martyr. Neither sounded appealing. Bea wasn't a big pity party fan, and she just didn't look good in a halo. But there it was. The honest truth, and from the god of lies, no less. Die and save the world. Or live on for a few more minutes and watch all of history implode.

Well then.

At least she couldn't complain about never having been kissed.

She peered up at the faces surrounding her. There wasn't a smile in the lot. Frowns all around. "Any volunteers?"

The verbal explosion that followed could probably have torn its own hole in the space time continuum, and Bea's headache objected to the cacophony. The pain demonstrated its displeasure by spreading and stabbing white hot needles into the tender parts of her insides.

"Tony." It was a struggle to hold herself together, let alone speak. "I'm going to die either way. _Please_. You don't have to. None of you do. I don't want you to. So please, please, _please_."

Sitting there, the fate of the world on his shoulders, Tony jerked his head in the approximation of a shake. "Ducky." So many reasons why he couldn't, and all he had to say was one word.

Bea bowed her head and appealed to her last and best hope. "Agent Romanoff, I know you'll do what you have to. I know you've been trained to make tough choices. And I think," she looked up, looked her in the eye, "and I think you can. So please." Her head was burning, freezing, shredding itself. Tears fogged her eyes. "One bullet." The Black Widow didn't move. "Please!"

The red head stared her down, unmoving, unblinking, and then – nodding towards Loki without taking her eyes from Bea – said, "He told us what the easiest method would be. There's another way. He's just waiting for the limelight to share it."

Loki released a slow and devilishly sensuous smile. "Always so observant, Agent Romanoff. And, yes, you are correct. There is another way. It is more difficult, and it will not be pleasant, but it shouldn't be fatal."

"Then how do we do it?" Steve asked, pretending, again, that he was at the helm of this floating madhouse.

"You do nothing," Loki said. "_I_ lock her into subspace – where there is nothing but the object stored. An object in subspace has its own timeline. While it is there, its existence is completely sundered from the rest of the cosmos."

Clint frowned. "So she could gain the maturity she needed without compromising the rest of us."

"Correct."

Tony snarled. "You _wanted_ this to happen," He stabbed a finger Loki's direction. "You wanted her to be more powerful. You wanted her to _need_ you. You wanted her to _depend_ on you. I don't know how, but you did this. You made it happen."

"Whether I did or not is hardly the issue," Loki said. "What matters is whether or not you will allow me to save this wretched world, or if you are content to cling to your selfish desires and watch as the Nine Realms drift into oblivion."

"Brother." Thor looked wounded, doubtless siding with Tony and assuming the worst of his adopted sibling. "I know you wish to be a great warrior, and to be revered for your mighty deeds, but this…" He pressed his lips together. Now that was a truly mighty deed, right there. "This is a sad thing. A terrible thing. You will receive no glory in Asgard."

"I do not _seek_ glory in Asgard," Loki sneered.

"Then what do you seek?"

Bea decided she was feeling neglected. She was the one the fate of the world depended on. They could at least ask her opinion instead of pinning Loki up for target practice. "Hey, guys, what does it matter what his motives are?" The attention returned to the most important person in the room, and she pressed on. "Time is ripping itself apart right now, and I'm not so keen on chilling in subspace until I'm old and more than grey, but I'm also against the world ending, so… do it."

"No," Tony snapped.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Promise she'll be safe." Everyone (sans Natasha) sort of jolted and looked at Clint. Quiet, self possessed Clint who liked to look at things from a distance, and there he was, less than a yard away from the focal point of time's collapse, still calm and controlled. He knew what was important, and he understood how best to get them.

Loki did the question credit, giving it the consideration it deserved before he answered. As the prince of mischief strung together his answer, Tony's hand crept around Bea's, squeezing until it was almost painful. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "What will I tell Pepper?"

It was difficult, but Bea summoned a smile for him. "I'm sure you'll think of something." Her voice was barely more than a whisper as it was, so it didn't take much effort to be quiet.

By then, Loki had finished thinking. "The stone will allow me to sense her. If she, for whatever reason, is in danger, I will be aware, and I will do my utmost to defend her while she is in my keeping."

"Soooo not in your keeping," Bea drawled. She smirked up at him, aware that a bead of blood was trailing down from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not a Polly Pocket, jerk."

Loki returned her smirk with a toothy grin. "As you say."

Shifting, a little anxious, Doctor Banner said, "We'd, uh, better do this now. I think it's a now or never kind of thing, if you catch my drift."

"Right." Bea tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. Tony and Clint each took a side and scooped her up to her feet, supporting her as she wobbled. She looked around.

Everyone looked so deathly grim.

Well.

That wouldn't do at all.

"Oh, get over it," she panted, red spittle tracing down her chin as she spoke. "I'm a time traveler, remember?"

Steve offered a wincing smile, and Thor grinned, despite the mist in his eyes. Natasha gave a stoic nod, and Clint pulled his arm a little tighter around her back. Bruce tried to smile, sort of failed, and adjusted his glasses. They all did their best to act like the world was all well and good. Except for Tony. Tony wasn't even trying to pretend. He was unhappy, and he didn't care if the whole world knew it. Loki stepped forward.

"Are you ready?"

"No." She tried to snort, but ended up gagging on a rush of blood. "Doesn't look like I've got much of a choice, though. Let's do this."

He came very close, and he hovered a moment, probably sensing… something. Bea had no idea what sending a living creature into subspace involved. Doubtless it was a complicated affair. After a few moments, he spoke. "Your dragon," he said, "will stay on guard until you are ready to leave the castle."

It was, Bea realized, Loki's attempt at comfort. He knew her well enough to know she was afraid. This was him – trying to console her before he locked her away for a hundred years. She gave him a bloody grin.

A proper fairytale, indeed.

He reached out and rested his first two fingers against the stone he'd embedded so long ago in her chest, and then Bea Doe left New York.

**A/N: I'm done. I'm... done? I'm... wow, that's a weird feeling. So, that's it, folks, the final chapter! I hope you enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed the rest of the fic. Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers! You made this so much fun to write even when it was difficult, and your words of encouragement meant so much to me. **

**IMPORTANT! So, even though this is the last 'chapter' I have already written an itty bitty little epilogue, if anyone's interested. I'm going to be a tease and ask for... five?... reviews. Then I'll put it up. Because, you know, a little bit of torture is good for the spleen. **

**Marzipan: First off, your name - just - AWESOME. So glad you enjoyed the fic, and thank you for all the fantastic feedback you left along the way. I think you caught more of my Doctor Who references than anyone else, so kudos to thee! I couldn't help myself. Messing with time and Doctor Who just go together, right? Thanks again! I hope you enjoyed these final chapters!**

**Guest: Thank you very much! I aimed to make this an interesting little fic, and it would seem that I succeeded. Thanks again so very, very much!**


	30. In Which

**Disclaimer: Once more with feeling! Me no own, you no sue.**

In Which…

Sleeping in subspace was much the same as dreaming. Bea's world began and ended with herself. If she stretched out, there was void, the epitome of nothing. Not space, not empty air, not even a hollow thought, only absolute absence. When thinking of nothing, she'd always envisioned something _else _ that just happened to have nothing inside it. Reality was so much broader. She stretched, filling her impossible home like Alice, yet taking no space at all.

Her timeline was a mess. She'd tried sorting it out several times, but in subspace it made little difference, and eventually she gave it up. It was impossible to tell when one moment began and another ended. She could have a passing thought about work for an hour, or spend a minute expounding on every philosophical question she'd ever posed. For example, "You say the world isn't on the back of turtle, and I agree that we'd notice an ordinary turtle. But what if it's a ninja turtle?" It was difficult to tell how long an ordinary task should take. In part that was because she had not ordinary tasks. She had only herself, and then nothing.

She learned the workings of her own mind very well, and because of her extended isolation, any brief contact she had with Loki as he checked on her was nothing short of dazzling. But even in a blank netherworld, she understood that she must never, ever, under any circumstances let him know that.

She wondered what Tony would seem like after her time alone. Or if Clint would seem chatty. No, some things were simply not possible, no matter how dramatic the isolation.

She squirmed. After this, the air ducts would seem roomy. But also claustrophobic. It was amazing how vast absolute zero was.

The stone in her chest warmed with magic. He was reaching for her.

"_Is my princess ready to emerge?"_

Smiling to herself, Bea reached back. _"I'm ready, dragon."_

**A/N: **And that's it, folks! Thank you again to all of the wonderful reviewers who took the time to offer feedback, and thanks to everyone who favorited or added this story to an alert list or a Community. There have been a lot of questions about a sequel, and the best I can say is: I did leave the door open on purpose, but right now there are a lot of other writing projects that desperately need my attention, and though I'm far from 'tired' of the Avengers, the superheroes and I need a little time apart to recuperate and dream up new plots. I do have some interesting ideas about possible routes a sequel could go, but that will depend a lot on what happens in the Marvel universe. Obviously, I didn't even address _Iron Man 3_, which had major implications for the series. I'm concerned that Loki may die in _Thor 2_, and I always feel like I've strayed too far from the story when I begin grossly contradicting the source material. And that's the point of fanfiction, but, I don't know. The most I can say is - we'll see.

_**Thanks again!** _


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